


Cobble Hill

by LoveMeSomeRafael, shax92



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Electrician!Thor, Loki? Not a good bro, M/M, MRBB 2020, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Military Historian!Bucky, Modern Bucky Barnes, Notting Hill, Protective Natasha, See Steve. See Steve fuck up. See Steve grovel., Steve is Captain America, Teen and up tag is for swearing and adult content but the sex is implied, Thor Is a Good Bro, Thor is a romantic, We fixed the things that are wrong with Notting Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMeSomeRafael/pseuds/LoveMeSomeRafael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shax92/pseuds/shax92
Summary: Notting Hill AUBucky Barnes is happy.  He has everything he could want.  He lives in a great house and has a close-knit group of friends.  Sure, he'd like to be in love, but he wouldn't call himself lonely.  His life is going along just fine until Steve Rogers -Captain freaking America- walks into his bookshop specializing in military history.  Bucky's always had a thing for Captain America, and Steve Rogers exceeds all his fantasies.Until he takes Bucky on the emotional rollercoaster ride of his life, leaving him wildly disappointed and nursing a broken heart.After giving him a second chance and being burned again, Bucky is done with Steve Rogers.  It's a good thing Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to him, and prove that his bad behavior is in the past.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentioned), Riley/Sam Wilson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Bucky Barnes Meets Captain America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

_In the New York City borough of Brooklyn, where I was born and raised, there’s a neighborhood called Cobble Hill. It has Italian meat markets and pastry shops that have been run by the same families for_ _generations. I get my hair cut at an old-fashioned barber shop called Selvig’s, which has been there since before World War II. The current barber, Erik, tells you all the neighborhood gossip while he works, just like his granddad always did. And the thing that makes it great is that those kinds of places exist side-by-side with trendy new shops, bars, and restaurants._ _In fact, Cobble Hill is home to Smith Street, Brooklyn's "Restaurant Row." My friend Tony, a genius inventor (you’d recognize his name if I said it) just gave control of his multi-billion-dollar empire over to his girlfriend so that he could open a restaurant on Smith Street. It’s a cutthroat business, owning a restaurant, but Tony’s restaurant is special because all the employees are robots. Anyway, I’m not worried. He always has that multi-billion-dollar-empire thing to fall back on._

_There’s a thriving sidewalk culture in Cobble Hill; neighbors meet and talk along the quaint streets lined with historic brick row houses on their way to the shops. And those shops have everything you could need, and lots of things you don’t, including candles with weird scents and those knit caps everyone wears now. There’s really no reason to leave Cobble Hill. We even have a_ _Trader Joe’s; it just happens to be in a historic limestone building that used to be a bank, near the spot where George Washington watched the Battle of Long Island during the Revolution._

_The only possible drawback to Cobble Hill is the price of real estate. Homes here cost upwards of a million dollars, including mine._

_Which makes it tough to live on a military pension. Yeah, I’m ex-Army. I used to be the leader of a covert ops team called the Howling Commandos (think Seal Team Six, only effective. Fuck the Navy). My team was pretty elite, even if no one will ever know the name Bucky Barnes. I guess I’m proud of that part, but my feelings about some of the missions we were assigned are a bit more complicated. And I have some_ really _complicated feelings about the time I spent as a prisoner of Hydra. But I don’t talk about that part. So as soon as I was eligible for a pension, I got out. And now I live in one of those brick row houses._

_I absolutely love my house, with its distinctive red star on the gray door. Thing is, the house cost every cent of the insurance payment I got when I lost my left arm rescuing some dumbass senators who thought it was a good idea to tour a war-torn country and meet some real, live freedom fighters. (What kidnapped senators, you ask? Exactly. Told you, the Howlies are covert.) Anyway, sometimes it’s just not your day, and let’s just say that day was not mine. Incidentally, that’s how I met Tony. He heard about what happened and built me a cybernetic arm for free. I gotta say, I like this arm better than the one I was born with. And although I can’t give you details, you can be sure I made good use of that arm for the rest of my time with the Howlies._

_So I have this great house, but between Homeowners’ Association dues, taxes, and just plain living, it costs more than I can afford, even though I have a job in addition to my pension. I own a bookshop specializing in military history. That’s been a dream of mine forever, but it pays about as well as you think it would. Which is why I have a roommate._

_I like Thor. I do. He has a heart as big as his biceps and, for the most part, he’s good company. But you have to understand that Thor is… a lot. He comes from… let’s leave it at_ elsewhere _… and the guy’s an actual damn prince. As in, Dad’s the king. Which, apparently, comes with its share of B.S., so he’s here for a “season of repose,” whatever that means. (Thor talks like that. You get used to it.)_

_The thing with Thor is that he’s not just a prince. He’s also – no shit – the god of thunder. And that’s where the, “perhaps I should’ve thought this roommate situation through a little more carefully” comes in. Because that god stuff means he has the power to control lightning. Naturally, he works as an electrician. Since he conducts electricity anyway, it doesn’t hurt him, so why not? But being the god of it and all, he likes electricity, and he has a tendency to play with it. So he gets fired a lot, not to mention there’s scorch marks all over the house. We did install a lightning rod in the front that he’s supposed to use to ground all his excess charge before he comes in, but Thor kind of lives moment to moment, so he forgets._

_There’s also Mjölnir. He’s supposed to keep Mjölnir in the hall closet where it belongs, but it’s a massive hammer with all kinds of magical properties so, of course, Thor spends a lot of time playing with it. He has a tendency to leave it lying around, which is a problem since only he can lift it. Once he left it right in the middle of the coffee table when he went out of town. Thing is, it was sitting on my laptop, which meant I couldn’t use my computer all weekend. And then there was the wildly expensive wall incident, but that’s a story for another day._

* * *

Bucky pulls his keys out of his pocket, as always smiling a bit at the bright red star on his gray front door. It maybe doesn’t fit in with the neighborhood’s historical aesthetic as well as his neighbors’ doors, but it _is_ historical. That red-star-on-gray is the insignia of the Howling Commandos, going back to the team’s formation back in World War II, when Bucky’s great-grandfather had become the Howlies’ best sniper. Bucky had Tony Stark paint that red star on the shoulder of his cybernetic arm, too. 

As soon as Bucky opens the door, Thor comes bounding down the stairs into the foyer. He’s completely naked, which for Thor is not as uncommon as it should be. Bucky doesn’t mind that much; Thor is _built_ . His voice, however, booms throughout the house, which is also not as uncommon as it should be. Bucky _does_ mind that, but he’s given up complaining. It does no good.

“Friend Bucky! I am so pleased to see you! I am in great need of assistance.”

Bucky looks Thor up and down, then says, “Well, I’m definitely game, pal. But I didn’t think you batted for the home team.”

“No, no,” Thor shushes Bucky with an impatient sweep of his massive hand. “I have a job interview, and I must look my most presentable. I require your assistance to choose an ensemble.”

Bucky shrugs. “All right. You got some ideas?”

“I do! Just wait. I will be right back.”

Bucky goes into the small but modern kitchen. The cabinets are a warm, honey-colored birch, with the same tone picked up in the granite countertops and the reclaimed wood floor. As always, he feels a small glow of happiness just being here in this house he loves so much. Actually, Bucky’s pretty happy with most aspects of his life. Great house, great job, great friends… 

He admits, if only to himself, that he kind of wishes he had a romantic partner. Bucky reminds himself often that he doesn’t need a partner to be happy, it’d just be nice sometimes to have someone special. He has blue eyes and dark hair that he wears a bit longer now that he’s out of the Army, and people are always telling him he’s attractive. His jawline has been called “ridiculous” in what he was assured was the best possible way. He works hard to keep his body mission-ready, even though he’s been out of the Army a few years now. So he could get dates if he wanted to. He’s just not willing to settle for less than… Well, he knows his expectations are unrealistic. So he just enjoys his life as it is. He’d certainly never call himself lonely. 

But his friends would.

He’s just staring into the refrigerator, contemplating how ambitious he feels about making dinner, when he hears Thor return downstairs. He also feels it through the floorboards, because Thor’s galumphing down the stairs as always. Bucky turns to see his roommate, all rippling muscles and blond hair past his shoulders, smiling ear to ear and holding his arms out to show off his outfit. Which…

“Um, Thor. You’re an electrician. You don’t actually wear a suit jacket to work. Is it necessary to wear one to the interview?”

“I wish to make a positive impression.”

“Good instinct, but I wonder whether a maroon and white gingham blazer really gives the impression of a serious tradesman, you know? Especially with the lime green shirt. The white polka dots are really, um… whimsical for a job interview.”

“I understand. Thank you. That is good advice, and I shall take it. I have options.”

“Thank God,” Bucky mutters as Thor rumbles his way up to his bedroom. Bucky’s glad he didn’t have to find a kind way to mention the shiny, satiny striped tie that was wide enough to double as a bib.

He’s taken out the makings for stir fry and is just pulling down a cutting board when the house shakes again, and Thor appears in the doorway. Bucky’s involuntary shriek would be embarrassing, except that Thor’s voice drowns it out.

“This is much better, is it not?”

“It, um… You know, you’ve totally got the idea. This is closer to what you actually wear to work. But, um… What’s all over it, and who is ‘Earl’?”

Thor looks down at the large name tag sewn onto the breast of the filthy blue coveralls he’s wearing. “I do not know this Earl. I found these on the street.”

“Okay, so you’re going in the right direction, but just maybe a little _too far_ in the right direction. I don’t think this is quite it.”

Bucky winces for the structural integrity of the house as, once again, Thor mounts the stairs at a dead gallop. Fortunately for Bucky’s appetite, the miasma of motor oil rolling off of Earl’s coveralls goes with him.

Thor’s next attempt is actually not so bad. Bucky knows bars where this outfit would be quite appropriate and _extremely_ well-received. The tank top has perhaps a bit too much glitter in the neon design to be entirely professional, but it shows off his arms and it’s so tight across his pecs and abs that Bucky’s pretty sure nobody’s going to be looking at the design, anyway. The jeans, well… Thor is apparently able to breathe and move in them, so perhaps Bucky’s reaction to their tightness is simply a matter of taste. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, that works.”

Thor’s massive grin is so endearing that Bucky can’t help smiling back. 

* * *

Bucky enjoys his commute. Mostly because it doesn’t involve any commuting, just a nice three-block walk past beautiful old brick row houses and a bustling line of small shops and cafés to his bookstore. It’s small, like its neighbors, and stuffed with so many books it’s a little hard to navigate gracefully. Bucky absolutely loves it. The sense of belonging among his fellow shop owners, the smell of the books, the fascination he’s always had about military history and having all the time he wants to indulge it (okay, that last one is a bit problematic, he’d rather spend a _bit_ more time actually selling the books) make most days very satisfying. 

He’s pleased to see that his assistant, Bruce Banner, has already opened the shop. There’s not enough business to really justify having an assistant, but having Bruce there means Bucky can spend time in his tiny, windowless office in the back when he needs to. It also means he can take a day off, or run errands, without having to close the shop. Besides which, Bucky just likes being around Bruce. He’s entirely relaxed and calm, like Bucky’s own personal Valium, and that’s nice when the memories get intrusive. 

Bruce looks up as Bucky lets himself into the shop. His dark eyes are twinkling behind his wire-framed glasses as he runs a hand through the waves of his permanently-mussed dark brown hair. “Where’s my tea?”

“What? Was I supposed to get you tea?”

“Well, we didn’t talk about it or anything, I was just hoping you would.”

“Ah. Better work on that telepathy, then.”

Bruce shrugs and goes back to re-shelving. 

For a couple hours, they enjoy the pleasant routine of a morning waiting on customers. Eventually, though, Bruce decides he really does want that tea, and tells Bucky he’s going to the coffee shop several doors down. “You want anything?” 

“The usual.”

Bruce grunts in acknowledgement and drifts out the door, passing a nice-looking man in his early forties who is just on his way in. Bucky greets the customer, who gives him a friendly smile back and begins to browse. 

Bucky goes behind the counter and takes out the leather-bound notebook on a shelf underneath to look at the shopping list they maintain there. Maybe it’s gotten long enough to justify a trip to the office supply store. It’s a nice day, and that would be a good reason to stretch his legs later. It seems like maybe the list might be long enough to make the trip worth it, until he sees that both he and Bruce have put cash register tape and goldfish crackers on it. He crosses out the duplicate entries and sighs. 

As he looks up from putting the notebook back, he sees a set of very broad shoulders through the glass of the shop door. The door opens, and a tall man, who looks to have dark blond hair under his blue ball cap, shuffles in. He’s nervously adjusting his sunglasses and looking down. He doesn’t take the sunglasses off when he gets fully in the door. 

“Good morning,” Bucky says, not even realizing that he’s staring at the guy’s chest. Because even with the light jacket he’s wearing, Bucky can see that the man’s grey T-shirt, the sweat-wicking kind that’s just a little shiny, is stretched tight over a magnificent set of pecs. Not only that, but it’s molded nicely to what Bucky can tell are sculpted abs. 

“’Morning,” the guy mutters, and it’s the voice that clinches it. That voice has said some things in Bucky’s most private fantasies that even now are making Bucky’s face feel a little warm.

This guy is Captain America. Steve Rogers. _Captain freaking America_ is in Bucky’s book shop.

Like every other kid since World War II, Bucky grew up with Captain America. Tales of his real-life exploits fighting Nazis in Europe, the comic books, even the goofy but fun short films he had made, the ones they had shown before the main movie to keep up the country’s morale during the war… Bucky loved all of those, but he also liked Steve Rogers, who had grown up here in Brooklyn during the Depression. He loved the idea of a scrappy little guy, who not only refused to be bullied himself, but stood up to bullying wherever he found it, all five-foot-four of him. Bucky always thought it was tragic that Captain America had died so young and so heroically.

When the news broke a few years ago that Captain America had been found, miraculously alive, under the Arctic ice, Bucky’s reaction had been entirely different. He still liked all the things he’d always liked about Captain America, but by then Bucky was Steve Rogers’ age, and appreciated him in a whole different way. That chiseled body, the gorgeous blue-eyed blond thing… Bucky was hit between the eyes by how attractive he found Steve Rogers. 

And now Steve Rogers is standing ten feet away, in Bucky’s bookshop. Even with all the pictures and videos he’s seen, along with Bucky’s vivid imagination, the sheer size and overwhelming maleness of him still takes Bucky by surprise. He is, despite the weird way he’s trying to be invisible at this moment, the most beautiful man Bucky’s ever seen.

“Hey, c’mon in. Can I help you?” Bucky asks.

“No thanks,” Captain America answers, taking a book from a shelf and mostly speaking into the pages. “I’ll just look around.”

He’s chosen a good-sized coffee table book about the role of Brooklyn during the Revolutionary War. It’s not bad – Bucky wouldn’t stock it if it was – but he has to say _something_ . It’s _Captain freaking America_!

“So, just in case looking might turn into actually buying, that book is no good.” Bucky holds up another one on the same subject, from a display on the counter announcing that it’s the deal of the week. It’s been the deal of the week for months, but Captain America doesn’t know that. 

“But this one is good,” Bucky goes on. “There’s a chance the author’s actually researched the topic, which helps.”

Steve Rogers just nods and keeps browsing the book in his hands. If he doesn’t buy it, Bucky’s never going to sell that copy. He’s much more likely to make it into a damn shrine. _Captain freaking America_ touched it!

For the next few minutes, Bucky makes a mess of things on the counter, trying to look like he’s not watching Steve Rogers’ every move. Fastidious, systematic Bruce (“A place for everything, and everything in its place”) is going to blow a gasket. 

And then Bucky hears it. The sound of a book being slid into a backpack or under a shirt. He knows the sound, because it’s the same sound a weapon makes as it’s sliding into — or more importantly, out of — a holster. He sees Captain America catch it, too, and figures it’s for the same reason. Rogers’ head comes up and they both look toward the shelves that obscure the other customer in the store from their sight. 

Rogers pulls his sunglasses off and looks over at Bucky. They make eye contact. The look they share, with its accompanying smirk, says as clearly as words that they both understand what’s happening, and it’s like they make a silent pact to let the guy try to walk out with the book. The intimacy of it gives Bucky a very pleasant glow that starts somewhere around his navel and goes south.

Coffee table book still in hand, Rogers steps over to the counter. Grinning conspiratorially, he leans in toward Bucky and whispers, “ _I_ was thinking of stealing one, but now I’ve changed my mind.”

Bucky can’t help it. It’s _Captain freaking America!_ He leans closer and murmurs, “I’d probably let _you_ steal one.” 

Rogers blinks. Bucky sees the gears turning as he tries to decide whether he heard right and, if he did, what it means. It’s just as he takes in a breath to respond — and Bucky _really_ wants to hear that response — when the dumbass reappears from behind the shelf. Bucky wants to punch his lights out for ruining the moment. 

Also, for the book that is very obviously stuck into the guy’s pants and badly covered by his shirt.

The guy gets one look at Steve Rogers and rocks back on his heels. “Whoa! You’re Captain America!”

Steve puts on a very disappointed expression and nods back. 

“Man, you’re the best! I love your style, with the whole shield thing, and…” the guy gestures to Steve’s body. “Wow. You really _are_ that impressive, huh?”

Bucky can feel the mocking snort trying to escape, but hangs onto it. He wants to see what Captain America’s going to do with this situation.

“Dude, can I have your autograph?” The guy pulls some random scrap of paper – a bail receipt or a parking ticket or something, Bucky guesses – and hands it to Steve, who takes it. 

Bucky hands Steve a pen and their eyes meet again.

“What’s your name, son?” Steve asks the guy, and Bucky knows for a fact he’s using his Captain America voice, rather than his normal speaking voice. 

“Scott. Scott Lang.”

Steve scribbles with the pen, then hands the scrap of paper back to the man with a scowl. The guy, oblivious, beams at him and looks down at the scrap of paper. 

“Dear Scott,” he begins to read, delighted. “A tip from Captain America: Pay for the… book in

your… pants.”

The guy looks up, having realized somewhere in the middle of stumbling to the end of Steve’s note that he’d been caught. He does the worst imitation of surprise Bucky’s ever seen outside of a beauty pageant. “Oh. Oh, yeah!” 

He pulls up his shirt and yanks the book out of the waistband of his pants with a lame facepalm. “Put it in there so I didn’t have to carry it, and then I got so excited to see Captain America, I just forgot.”

He pulls a handful of crumpled bills out of his pants pocket and hands them to Bucky. “My bad.”

Bucky just nods and takes the money. He doesn’t want to re-stock a book that’s been down this guy’s pants. He’s not even crazy about the idea of handling the bills, so he uses his left hand. He makes a mental note to ask Bruce to count out the till at the end of the day. 

When the guy leaves, _Captain freaking America_ turns to Bucky and they share a laugh. Bucky knows he’s going to be replaying this moment on an endless loop for approximately the next ten years.

“I’ll take this one,” Steve says, handing Bucky the coffee table book and smiling into his eyes. Bucky’s brain briefly shorts out, and he has to take a second to work through what the words mean.

“Oh! Uh, okay. Great.” Bucky puts the book into a bag and runs Steve’s card, grateful for muscle memory, because his mind is glitching all over the place. Bucky slides a copy of the other book, the deal of the week, into the bag, too. “On me. But you can pretend you stole it, if you want. Since that guy took your idea.” 

Steve laughs, lighting up every one of Bucky’s nerve endings, and gives a little wave with the bag when Bucky hands it to him with his credit card. “Thanks. I’ll do that. Have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too.” 

Bucky can be forgiven for watching very, very carefully as Steve leaves. After all, he’d threatened to steal a book. Also, that _is_ America’s ass.

When Bruce returns to the shop a few minutes later, the first thing he sees is the mess Bucky’s made of his carefully-arranged counter. 

“What’s going on with this?” Bruce asks, not shouting, but with a note of annoyance that is as upset as Bruce ever gets. “I go out for tea and all of a sudden it’s Armageddon in here?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky grunts distractedly, still looking vaguely in the direction of the shelf where _Captain freaking America_ had stood browsing in _his_ very own book shop.

* * *

Bucky’s still in somewhat of a Captain America-induced haze at lunchtime. It’s too nice a day to stay in the shop, so he tells Bruce he’s going to get a sandwich and maybe eat in the park. He steps out into the sunshine and looks up and down the block, appreciating the number of people the nice weather’s lured out. It’ll probably be a profitable day for the shop. 

He returns some waves from people he knows, and almost bumps into a woman who works at the cupcake shop two doors down. 

“Hi, Bucky!” she chirps, smiling brightly. 

“Hey, Marlene. How’s it going?”

“We have red velvet today. You want one? I know you like them.” The hope in her voice is sweet, and she’s cute. Bucky’s pretty sure she watches out the window for him to walk by, too, because there’s no way the number of times she just “happens” to come out the door at the same time is coincidence. 

There’s nothing particularly wrong with Marlene. But that’s exactly the problem. Bucky doesn’t want “good enough.” He’s not looking for “okay.” Especially when he doesn’t know what Marlene knows (or thinks she knows) about his sexual orientation. He’s not going to bother coming out as bi to someone unless he’s excited enough about the person to make it worth the investment. He’s certainly not closeted, but coming out is risky and difficult, no matter how many times you do it. 

Another problem with Marlene is that she’s just too young for Bucky. The actual difference in their ages wouldn’t be that much of a problem except that, in addition, Bucky just _feels_ older than he is. He saw a lot during his military career, enough that it took him a while to settle into civilian life, and it made him harder and more cynical than he sometimes wishes he was. 

That’s part of why Bruce is so good for him. Bruce works hard to be as chill as he is, because he has some pretty serious rage issues. Nine-foot tall, green rage issues that like to smash stuff. He’s the only one who knows the full truth about what those assholes did to Bucky when they took him prisoner. What they made him into. Bruce, of all people, understands being more than you appear to be. In addition, since he’s been through his own fairly horrific experiences, Bruce understands that Bucky wrestles with some leftover demons. It makes him a valuable sounding board. Bucky likes that he can’t shock Bruce, even in his worst moments. 

Bucky’s polite and friendly as he declines Marlene’s offer of a cupcake, slowing, but never actually stopping walking. He waits until he gets a few doors down the street before he lets out the deep, weary sigh. His expectations of relationships are too high. He knows that. What he doesn’t know is how to stop looking for somebody… well… somebody like Captain freaking America.

He’s replaying their entire encounter from this morning in his head when he senses something not right. Looking up, he sees nothing, but when he looks back, he sees a guy running hell-for-leather toward him down the opposite sidewalk. Now he can hear someone yelling, “Stop him! Thief!” He can also see that there’s someone running in pursuit, but the guy’s a block behind, so Bucky rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and saunters across the street.

Unlike Captain America this morning, making himself more visible by obviously trying not to be noticed, Bucky’s actually an expert at this. The thief never even notices him. That is, until Bucky ambles between two parked cars, perfectly timing his move, and launches himself at the guy as he passes, pinning him effortlessly against the large plate-glass window of a small toy store. 

Bucky’s surprised to see that the guy chasing the thief must have been running _really_ fast, because he was almost on the thief when Bucky caught and pinned him. In fact, the guy was actually in the process of throwing himself at the thief in a flying tackle, which means the poor dude hurtles right past and does a painful-looking sliding belly-flop onto the sidewalk, his jacket and shopping bag scattering on the pavement. Bucky winces and turns around, easily holding the thief in place against the plate-glass window with one arm. 

After taking a moment to shake his head clear, the guy gets up and turns around, frowning and brushing dirt off his now-torn jeans. 

_Captain freaking America._

The tight T-shirt Bucky had noticed in the shop is in rags. One whole side is hanging off, exposing a swath of scraped-up but nonetheless mouthwatering chest, and about half of what is even more of a washboard abdomen than Bucky’s dirty imagination had pictured this morning. And he’s panting, which Bucky can totally understand, because that’s how he feels, too. Bucky wasn’t running, of course, but the way Steve Rogers looks right this minute… The other side of Steve’s t-shirt isn’t in much better shape; the sleeve has come loose from the body of the shirt, exposing a shoulder that Bucky wants to gnaw on so bad he almost lets go of the thief. 

The thief feels Bucky’s grip relax, and tries to jerk free, but this is nowhere near Bucky’s first rodeo and all it gets the guy is his wrists yanked up and his face pressed hard against the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says to Steve. “I was watching him, not you. I didn’t mean to—“

“No, no, it’s okay,” Steve huffs, standing side-on to Bucky and waving a hand before using it to examine the damage to his clothes. He’s bleeding in some places. He steps over and picks up his jacket and the bag of books from Bucky’s shop. Steve loops the jacket over his elbow and puts the bag in that hand, then turns to Bucky. 

At that moment, a small, round woman comes hustling up with another woman who looks to be her daughter. She has a musical accent (maybe from Botswana, Bucky thinks) as she says, “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Captain America! So fortunate you were here to see him take my purse!”

“I’m not the hero here, ma’am. It was this man here who caught him.”

Bucky turns to the woman without loosening his hold on the thief. “Bucky Barnes, ma’am,” he nods politely. “Are you all right?”

As she answers that she’s fine, just winded and a little frightened, Bucky sees that a police cruiser is already pulling up. The next few minutes are taken up with the cops cuffing the thief and putting him in the car, and taking statements from witnesses. When the small gathering of witnesses and looky-loos disperses, Bucky notes that Captain America is still standing there, again looking at the ruins of his shirt. 

“Hey, sorry again,” Bucky says.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve answers, seemingly irritated anew. 

“You did. I know that now. I just didn’t— I mean, I noticed that someone was chasing him, but when I looked, you were a block behind. A normal guy wouldn’t have caught him, so…”

“You didn’t seem to have any problems.”

“Just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Steve squints at him, assessing. “You sure about that? Because it looked like you knew what you were doing. Military bookshop, tactical moves… Who, exactly, are you?”

“Oh, yeah…” Bucky sticks out his hand and Steve shakes it. “Bucky Barnes.”

“I heard you say your name earlier. I knew a guy from Brooklyn named George Barnes in the Army during the war. You’re not related by any chance?” There’s an odd look on Steve’s face now, as he lets go of Bucky’s hand. 

“One of the original Howling Commandos? Yes! He was my great-grandfather.”

Steve’s clearly astounded. “Great-grandfather,” he says, and shakes his head, grinning. “Dang, I’m old.”

“Well, you took a hell of an intermission under the ice.”

“I knew George pretty well. He was a friend.”

“I know, it’s family lore. It’s nice to know you remember him.”

“Of course I do! Like I said, we were friends. I was… I was there when he fell from that train. Never gettin’ over that. He was a great soldier. An even better man. You should be proud of him.”

Bucky nods. “I definitely am. In fact, I followed in his footsteps.”

“So you are that guy!” Steve cries. “I have a pretty high security clearance. I thought I recognized your name. You have a hell of a reputation, Sergeant.”

Bucky is sure he’s blushing. Fuckin’ hell, blushing in front of _Captain freaking America_. 

“Well, now I feel even worse about what I did. You know, I live right down the street. You should let me clean and bandage those scrapes. And I’ll give you a shirt.”

“Oh, no… I’ll be fine. I’ll just call a car—“ Steve pulls his phone from his pocket and they both see at the same time that the screen has been shattered in his fall. “Or maybe not.”

Steve looks up from the ruined phone with a resigned grin, which Bucky returns. “So, I don’t suppose you’d let me use your phone?”

“Of course I will,” Bucky purrs. “For a price.”

“Fine. Name it.”

“Let me replace that shirt and see to those scrapes. I’d feel less guilty.” 

“That’s really not necessary.”

“My cell’s back at the shop, anyway. And my house is very close.” 

“I don’t know… I mean… How close is close?”

Bucky points. “House with the red star on the door.”

“Oh. You weren’t kidding when you said you live nearby.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, but I’ll just call for a ride,” Steve agrees reluctantly.

Bucky’ll see about that. He’s not about to give up a chance to actually _touch_ that chest. 

Once they step inside, Steve looks around appreciatively. “Wow. This is great. I grew up in Brooklyn, but not around here. Always wondered what it was like inside these brownstones.” 

“C’mon,” Bucky says. “If you behave and let me deal with those scratches, I’ll give you a tour.”

“No,” Steve says, and it’s a firmer “no” than when they were on the street. Firm enough that Bucky turns to look at him. “I really just need a phone.”

“But you’re hurt—“

“I’m fine. Supersoldier serum and all that.”

Now it’s Bucky who cocks an eyebrow. “You’re a wuss.”

“What? No! I just don’t need—“

“Nope. That’s it. Captain America, afraid of a little antiseptic.” Bucky shakes his head in mock disappointment. “This is why they say never meet your heroes.”

“I am not a wuss!”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky points to the phone on the wall. “There’s your phone, Captain Wuss.”

“I’m not— Okay, smart guy. Lemme show you how _not_ a wuss I am. But when you faint, I’m just gonna laugh.”

Steve lifts his elbow away from his side, and his jacket along with it. Bucky realizes he’s had the jacket pressed against him the whole time. And that’s when Bucky sees the stab wound, still bleeding, although it’s apparent from the amount of blood on Steve’s shirt and the jacket that it had been bleeding much more freely. 

“Steve! Oh shit!” Bucky doesn’t faint. Instead, he goes full Sergeant Barnes, and puts a hand behind Steve’s back, propelling him toward the stairs. “Up. Bathroom’s at the top of the stairs.”

“I’m fine—”

“Nobody asked, Rogers. Up.”

After Bucky all but pushes Steve up the stairs and down the hall, he makes him take a seat on the commode, then reaches under the sink to retrieve what turns out to be a pretty comprehensive first aid kit. While he does, Steve pulls his keys from his pocket, placing them on the vanity so they’ll stop poking him in the leg. Bucky unzips the first aid kit and expertly flips it open on the counter, then turns back to Steve with a medical scissors in his hand. He doesn’t bother pulling the remnants of Steve’s shirt off. He just cuts the small strip on the right that’s still holding it together at the bottom, and cuts through the remaining sleeve. The bloody scrap falls into his hand and he flicks it into the bathtub, forgotten.

“You’ve done this before,” Steve says, and his voice is a little husky.

“You’re Army, too, right? I’m sure you’ve done your share of field medicine.” 

For a moment, they’re quiet as Bucky does a quick once-over to be sure he’s seen all the wounds and knows which to prioritize. As he does, standing in front of Steve with a hand on each of his massive, shapely shoulders, Bucky feels a charge begin to build in the air between them. He’s enjoying the privilege of having an excuse just to drink Steve in. And something about the slight tension in Steve’s shoulders and the way he’s letting his eyes drift over Bucky tells him that Steve’s not minding it, either. 

“So, what happened?” Bucky asks, because this silent contemplation of so much tasty real estate is giving him ideas.

“Well, I caught the guy once. That’s when he stabbed me, which is why I was so far behind him.”

“Yeah, a stab wound’ll do that.”

“No, it was the lady whose purse he stole. She saw the stabbing, and screamed. She was really upset, so I had to make sure she was okay.”

Bucky looks up from Steve’s scrapes to his face. “Are you fucking with me right now? _You_ got stabbed but you had to stop and comfort _her_?”

“She was upset.”

“Oh, man,” Bucky groans, finishing his exam. “You’re something.”

Then he starts to work, quickly and efficiently.

Bucky takes Steve’s wrist in his hand, firmly but gently lifting his arm so that he can get at the stab wound low on Steve’s flank. For the next few minutes, he’s concentrating on cleaning the wound and entirely unaware of Steve’s eyes on him, or the heat that comes into Steve’s ice-blue eyes as he watches him work.

Bucky goes down to his knees, gray-blue eyes squinting as he begins to clean the stab wound. “I don’t think stitches will do anything that a butterfly bandage won’t do just as well, as fast as you’re healing.”

“Yeah, I hate stitches. They’re pretty much ready to come out as soon as they go in. Plus they hurt.”

Bucky looks up at Steve with a smirk.

“Don’t say it,” Steve grumbles. 

They’re quiet as Bucky sprays coagulant gel on the wound, then tears open packs of gauze and begins to dress it. When Bucky begins to tape a bandage on, Steve motions toward the parts of his metal arm sticking out below the rolled sleeve of his oxford. “Can I ask about that?”

Bucky grins. “Lost the original to a grenade I shoulda seen coming. Got this one from a friend of yours, Tony Stark.”

“No kidding! I’ve met Tony, but I don’t know him very well. I was only a year out of the ice when he left Stark Industries to start his restaurant.”

“Yeah. He had it rough when he was held hostage in Afghanistan. I think the restaurant’s therapy. Anyway, this arm and me get along just fine.”

Bucky finishes bandaging Steve’s stab wound. When he stands, Steve starts to get up, too.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky asks. 

“Aren’t we done?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done. Sit.”

Steve sits. “You’re bossy, anybody ever tell you that? I outrank you, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky grins. “Not in my bathroom, you don’t. And you may be a Captain, but you’re also a dumbass. What the hell, Steve? You were just going to ignore a stab wound?”

Steve shrugs, looking genuinely confused by the question.

Bucky pulls a new antiseptic-soaked pad from the first aid kit and tears it open. Again he goes to his knees, which lets him get a better angle to examine and clean the scrapes across Steve’s— _oh holy shit the pecs on this man I am going to hyperventilate or attack him, one of the two…_

Bucky takes a deep breath, trying his best to refocus in the midst of a hormone storm. Because not only is Steve Rogers pretty much the embodiment of the perfect man, but he _smells_ like Bucky’s died and gone to gay heaven. He’s glad his jeans aren’t as tight as Steve’s, because _damn_. And speaking of jeans, Bucky could pretty much spend the rest of his life appreciating the abs just above the waistband of Steve’s.

The scrapes are ugly, but not serious, and already healing. They probably hurt (road rash always does) but bandages would just get in the way of healing. _And obscure the view_ , Bucky thinks, and decides he _really_ needs to get up from being on his knees in front of Steve Rogers. Not that he wants to, in any way, but he does it.

There’s one more scrape, on Steve’s right pec just below the collarbone, which looks like the place he took the brunt of his weight when he fell. “You want a bandage on that? It’s the only other wound that might need one.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Bucky grins, and their eyes meet. For a moment, they just share a smile, until Bucky realizes that they’re about one second from things getting awkward. Not to mention that Steve’s eyes are close enough to Bucky’s crotch that he should probably turn away before Steve sees that first aid is not the only thing on Bucky’s mind.

“I’ll go get you a shirt,” Bucky mutters, and jogs up the stairs to his third-floor bedroom.

Steve, of course, looks spectacular in Bucky’s shirt. And if Bucky chose a shirt the color of Steve’s eyes that is also perhaps a little tight, well, sue him. Once Steve puts it on, they go back downstairs to the phone on the kitchen counter, so Steve can call a cab.

“Hey, thank you,” Steve says, as they stand before Bucky’s front door. “Thanks for the assist with that guy, and the doctoring, even though neither were necessary.”

“Had to put a bandage on you, otherwise you woulda bled on my shirt. I think your jacket’s ruined,” Bucky responds, pointing to the grocery bag he gave Steve to carry his bloody jacket. 

“Well, I appreciate it. Actually, that was kind of fun. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to handle something as simple as a purse-snatching. I was only here because I wanted to take the opportunity to spend some time in Brooklyn. Stark and SHIELD have a compound upstate where I usually live, but I’m staying at Stark Tower right now because of the threat to Wall Street.”

“Oh, yeah, I read about that,” Bucky says. “Robot stockbrokers, huh? Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Steve reaches for the doorknob and pulls the door open. “And really, thanks again for… everything.”

And then he’s gone. Bucky stands in the foyer for a while, just trying to absorb the events of the day. After a while, he goes upstairs to clean up the bathroom. He’s holding the remains of Steve’s shirt, looking at it and trying to ignore the little voice telling him to keep it as a souvenir, when the doorbell rings. 

Bucky lets the shirt fall, sighs, and goes down to answer the door. 

He sucks in his breath in transparent shock when he sees Steve standing there in his shirt, looking every bit as godlike as Thor ever has.

“Forgot my keys on your sink,” Steve says, grinning sheepishly.

Bucky’s smile is flavored with slight mockery as he gives a little laugh and steps back, inviting Steve in. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

In seconds, he’s back down, holding out a plain silver key ring with four keys on it. Their fingers touch as Steve takes them, and Bucky thinks he hears Steve make the tiniest breathy sound. Steve keeps his eyes on Bucky’s as he drops the keys into his front pocket and, with that done, he takes a step closer. Before Bucky can even process what’s happening, Steve has slid his arms around his waist and their chests are touching. Bucky’s hands reflexively go to Steve’s biceps and, from there, travel slowly up until his arms are around Steve’s neck. Steve takes his time, looking into Bucky’s eyes as he gets closer, until he tips his face slightly and closes his eyes just before their lips meet. 

A riot of butterflies blossoms in Bucky’s stomach as he feels the warmth of Steve’s lips on his, tender and the tiniest bit uncertain. There is no part of him that doesn’t want to kiss back, so he does. Bucky’s kiss is not uncertain. Not at all. It’s yielding and yet there’s a subtle demand in it, to which Steve responds. He pulls Bucky closer, still not holding him tightly but rather gently, and opens his lips a little, inviting Bucky to do the same. 

Soon, they’re kissing deeply, while Bucky’s mind screams that this is _Captain freaking America_ , except it’s also Steve, which surprises Bucky. They’ve known each other for what, a few hours? It seems much longer to Bucky, but then they’ve foiled two crimes, treated a fairly major wound, and now they’re— _oh, fuck he tastes good. Where the hell does an icon of upright virtue learn how to kiss like a dockside whore? This is_ — _He’s_ —

Bucky feels the tip of Steve’s tongue lick lightly at the space between his lips and then, suddenly, there’s a loud zapping noise and the smell of ozone, followed by a resounding clatter as the front door flies open. Steve doesn’t even flinch. He keeps his arms around Bucky and just pulls away slightly, looking into Bucky’s eyes again with an expression of stunned wonder. Bucky can’t look away, even as Thor clumps across the foyer floor and slams the door. He’s reading something, a letter of some sort, and immediately begins to grumble loudly.

“This is not the best day of my existence, friend Bucky. You may wish to avoid the gym for a few days, because the owner is being entirely unreasonable about his weight machine.”

Bucky keeps his arms around Steve’s neck and his eyes remain glued to Steve’s as he asks, “What did you do to his weight machine?”

“Well, I will tell you what I did not do, and that is ‘rip it apart’, which is how he insists on phrasing it.” Thor shakes the letter he’s reading. “And just now, in the mail, here is another subpoena from the Con Ed. I believe that they should begin to pay me, since they summon me so often. And this time, the overloaded transformer was truly not my fault!”

Steve smiles slightly and softly nuzzles Bucky’s nose for a second as Thor’s footsteps pass behind them and toward the stairs. The footsteps stop, and Bucky knows Thor’s back is to them as he tosses the mail into a basket they keep on a table for that purpose. Again transfixed by Steve’s deep gaze, Bucky calls to Thor over Steve’s shoulder, “I told you that would happen. And I’m not helping you pay for this one.”

“The Islanders scored!” Thor cries indignantly as his loud footsteps begin again. “What was I to do to show my appreciation? They begrudge me a small celebration?” 

“The residents of grid G-47 do. Their power was out for almost 24 hours.” 

Thor’s heavy steps begin to ascend the stairs, and he can be heard huffing in irritation as he goes. 

“Do I want to know?” Steve asks quietly, brushing his lips against Bucky’s.

“He’s from out of town.”

Steve kisses Bucky again, once, twice, and a third lingering time before loosening his embrace and taking an obviously reluctant step back. “Don’t tell him about me being here,” he whispers, and lets himself back out the door, where his cab is waiting.

Bucky stands, dumbfounded, for so long that it’s not until Thor returns downstairs that the spell begins to break.

Thor goes into the living room and flicks on the television, entirely too loud as always. Bucky stumbles into the room and collapses into the deep, comfortable chair he uses for reading. Thor’s watching a cable news show, which is doing a story about Captain America, SHIELD, and their recent battle against an army of stockbrokers who turned out to be robots and attempted to take over Wall Street. There is video of the fighting, followed by a short, on-the-scene interview with Steve. 

“Do you know, friend Bucky,” Thor muses, “Although I prefer sexual congress with women, I find that man very attractive. The shape of his lips leads me to believe that he would be an excellent kisser.”

Bucky’s too starstruck even to begin to comprehend the comment, let alone reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment to let me know what you think! Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	2. Captain America Meets The Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a chance to see Steve again by visiting him at Stark Tower. But it doesn't go anything like he expected. Still, when Steve invites himself to Bucky's friend Natasha's birthday dinner, he turns out to be the date of Bucky's dreams.

Bucky hasn’t stopped replaying that kiss –  _ those kisses _ – for more than five seconds in the three days since they happened. At the moment, he’s making apologetic gestures to the driver of a car that nearly hit him as he stepped mindlessly into the street in front of his house, eyes glassy as he paid exactly no attention to where he was going.

He hears Thor’s voice calling to him and has to look around before he sees him. Or, rather, he doesn’t actually see Thor, what he sees is a green Subaru Outback gently raising and lowering in a parking spot nearby. 

“She hates it when you do that, you know,” Bucky says by way of greeting.

“Yes, but there is no need for concern. Cindy is out of town until Monday and will therefore be unaware of my activities.” 

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” 

Bucky sits down on the curb so that he can see Thor’s supine form when he lifts the car from the ground. “Do I have any phone messages?” 

Okay, maybe it’s a little pathetic to be sitting here on the curb, watching his roommate bench press a Subaru and hoping so hard it hurts. But hoping’s all Bucky can do, because he and Steve didn’t exchange phone numbers and neither of them said anything about seeing each other again. Bucky would never even have contemplated that someone like Steve Rogers would look twice at someone like him. But then Steve Rogers  _ kissed _ him. 

And walked out the door right afterward.

Bucky doesn’t have the first idea how to get in touch with Steve. There are probably seventeen layers of protection keeping random strangers from being able to just pick up the phone and call Captain America. So Bucky just has to hope that Steve will get in touch with him. And he has been hoping that. Steve knows his name, knows where he lives. He has all the resources of Stark Industries and SHIELD at his disposal. Getting Bucky’s phone number would be the work of a nanosecond for him. So Bucky’s checked his cell phone with pitiful frequency, including at night. With every minute that goes by, it gets less and less likely that those kisses meant anything to Steve beyond, “Thanks for the first aid.”

But they were outstanding kisses. Nobody kisses like that unless they mean it, right? 

“No one has called for you today, friend Bucky.”

Or, maybe they do.

Thor sets down the car and crawls out from underneath it. Bucky wants to maintain a little dignity here, but he’s too disheartened to try at the moment. Fortunately, he knows that Thor is as kind as he is frustrating. “Okay,” he sighs. “Thanks.”

He gets up and begins to shuffle dejectedly toward the steps to the front door. 

“However, there was a call from a man named Steve a few days ago.”

Bucky freezes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you now. Because now is when you have asked me.” 

Eleven. There are eleven ways Bucky can kill Thor right this minute, with his bare hands or what is within reach. Bucky has taken a second to catalog them all and is now savoring the idea of each, in turn, in order to avoid actually attempting any of them. It’s like counting to ten, only with murder.

There is no point in telling Thor, once again, about telephone messages. No one who has ever left one with Thor does it again. In fact, Bucky’s been meaning to get rid of the land line, because no one will call it anymore, for fear Thor will answer and they will be pulled into a half-hour conversation that Thor will enjoy immensely but that has absolutely no chance of resulting in Bucky knowing they’ve called. 

Through clenched teeth, Bucky asks, “What did he say?” 

“He said many things. We discussed—“

“Thor!” Bucky cries, whipping around to face him. “Did he leave a phone number? Does he want me to call him back?”

“Oh. Yes. He asked that you call him at Stark Tower. He said that you will need to ask for him by an entirely different name. Is that not odd? Something very dark and mysterious, though I do not remember specifically what it was.” 

“Thor? My entire future, and yours too, depends upon you remembering that name. So I am going to need you to focus.”

“I am quite focused, friend Bucky. I find that exercise always results in mental clarity.”

“Good. That’s good. Because I’m gonna need that name.” It’s all Bucky can do not to add that he is both trained and experienced in unsavory methods of extracting information. It’d be rude. Besides, Thor can’t help being… Thor. 

Despite half an hour of begging, threats, and attempted bribery, Bucky has been absolutely unable to get Thor to remember the name he’s supposed to ask for. Bucky gives up and decides that if he’s going to be begging, he might as well try begging whoever answers the phone at Stark Tower, instead.

“Thank you for calling Stark Tower. My name is Friday. How may I help you today?” The voice is cheerful, with a lovely Irish lilt. 

Bucky’s been told he can be charming and persuasive, which would be useful right about now, except that he spent time in Stark Tower when Tony gave him his arm. He knows that Friday is an AI. All the charm in the world won’t help Bucky now. Neither will Tony, who’s somewhere tropical with Pepper and won’t be back until late tonight. He knows better than to interrupt Tony’s alone time with Pepper. Which means Bucky’s desperate, so he tries charm. He tries for ten minutes. Friday is unfailingly polite, and entirely unwilling to bend the rules. 

Just as Bucky can feel the beginnings of a headache that will rival his heartache, Thor explodes through the front door and shouts, “Nomad!”

Bucky blinks. He stares at Thor and waits, blinking a few more times. And Thor just stares right back. Finally, Bucky realizes that Thor truly does not understand that what he yelled makes no sense. Bucky is going to have to actually ask Thor to explain that odd exclamation. “Nomad?” he prompts, reaching deeply into his soul for just one molecule more of patience.

“Thank you,” says the cheerful Irish voice on the line. “I’ll connect you.”

Bucky is so surprised by Friday’s capitulation that he jumps to his feet. The phone begins to ring, and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, turning away from Thor in an attempt to recover his composure before he either spontaneously combusts or just makes a fool out of himself in front of Steve.

Steve’s deep voice comes on the line, a smile audible in his words. “Bucky? You played it pretty cool there, waiting three days to call.” 

“I didn’t, actually. I have no chill whatsoever. But in my defense, you’ve met Thor, and still you thought it would work to leave a message with him.”

“I take full responsibility,” Steve chuckles, giving Bucky goosebumps all up and down his arms. “And I’d like to see you again.”

“I could come over,” Bucky says immediately, instantly confirming his lack of chill, in case Steve had any doubt. 

“Afraid I’m busy tonight, but what about tomorrow? I might be free about four.”

“I’ll see you then. Do I need another secret password?”

“No, I’ll leave word at the reception desk. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Bucky gets about twenty minutes of sleep that night.

* * *

As he rides the elevator to the tenth floor of Stark Tower, Bucky is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s had seven different shirts on in an attempt to find just the right casual but stylish vibe. He’s actually rethinking the one he finally chose, but it’s way too late now. There’s a bored-looking guy in the elevator with him, watching the numbers change just like Bucky is. 

“Hate these things, don’t you?” the guy asks.

Bucky has no idea what “things” he’s supposed to hate, but he’s also too nervous to deal with asking for a clue. So he just says, “Yeah,” and it works. The guy doesn’t try to talk to him any more. 

The elevator doors open on a strange scene: lots of people meandering around, most on cell phones and others in little groups, chatting. It looks like a waiting room, or an airline gate. A very pretty woman with dark hair in a flawless French twist greets them with a polite smile, but also frisks them rather thoroughly before waving some kind of scanning wand over them. She doesn’t even blink at Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky’s too surprised to ask any questions, let alone object. When she’s done, her smile relaxes slightly and she offers them folders with the design of Captain America’s shield on them. There’s also the SHIELD logo. 

“Your press packs, gentlemen,” the woman says. Bucky has no idea what a press pack is, but it poses no worse danger than paper cuts, so he accepts one.

The guy from the elevator introduces himself to the woman, calling her “Agent Hill,” and saying that he’s with some hipster magazine Bucky’s heard of, but never read. The woman turns to Bucky. 

“I’m SHIELD Agent Maria Hill. What media outlet are you from?”

_ What… huh? _ Bucky is so at a loss that he starts sputtering the first things that come to mind. “I… Um… Fox N – No. Food. The Food Network.”

Agent Hill’s smile flickers slightly for a fraction of a second before it’s back, but at a slightly reduced wattage. The suddenly intense scrutiny she’s giving him makes him want to hide. 

“Oh,” she says with a definite edge. “Well, excellent. We love the Food Network around here.”

She waves them further into the room and begins to move away. Before she can, Bucky says, “Wait, I… My name is Bucky Barnes. Steve might be expecting me?” 

The scrutiny intensifies. “Give me a moment to check with him.”

Bucky has just enough time to look around at the people in the room and conclude that he has absolutely no frame of reference to determine what the hell is going on before Maria Hill comes back, smile now back to full wattage. 

“Please, Sergeant Barnes, follow me.”

The guy from the elevator is watching with fascination as Agent Hill leads Bucky down a short hallway and opens a door into a small but luxurious conference room. As Bucky enters, he discovers Steve standing near a window, wearing business casual attire and wiping his palms on the thighs of his pants. The whole scene is so surreal that seeing Steve’s familiar face feels like a huge relief. Finally, something Bucky can understand. 

Maria Hill closes the door behind Bucky, leaving him alone with Steve, facing one another across the small, gleaming conference table.

“I have never been so at sea in my life,” Bucky blurts. “Even when I was literally at sea.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky thinks he sees Steve relax a little himself. “I’m sorry. They have me doing press about this Wall Street thing. I thought it would be over by now.”

“Should I—“

Bucky’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a tall man sweeps into the room, clad entirely in black and wearing a patch over his left eye. He is quite possibly the most intimidating guy Bucky’s ever seen. He goes to a sideboard on one side of the conference room and begins to look for something among the papers scattered across its top.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Steve offers, and Bucky sits merely to have something to do. 

He looks over at the man with the eyepatch, then back to Steve. After a few strained moments of silence, the man turns toward Bucky and says, “Don’t let me interrupt. Just go ahead and ask your questions.”

“This is Nick Fury. He’s the Director of SHIELD,” Steve explains, and Fury gives Bucky a perfunctory nod before going back to his search. Steve nods encouragement to Bucky, with a strange glance toward Fury’s back. 

“I, uh… Well, we at the, um, the Food Network are very interested in the fact that you need so many calories to keep up with your supersoldier metabolism.”

Steve mouths the words “Food Network?” and Bucky shoots him a dirty look. 

“So what do you, um… eat?”

Steve sounds surprisingly normal as he begins a bland explanation of his caloric needs and his usual diet. Thankfully, that gets them through the next minute or so, before Fury finds whatever he was looking for and leaves the room. 

Bucky looks at Steve, his expression a plea for mercy. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I thought this would be over and I’d have a little time to talk to you. I wanted to apologize, for, you know… kissing you. I mean, you don’t even know me, and I shouldn’t have... I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I know it was inappropriate.”

Bucky flinches hard. Steve’s words sting as though he had reached out and slapped Bucky across the face. He’s  _ sorry  _ for the molten, blissful kisses Bucky has been living on for days? Before he can say anything, Director Fury comes back into the room, this time to shuffle through some unidentifiable small technical gadgets spread haphazardly in the middle of the conference room table. 

“Be sure to ask Steve about the attack jellyfish trying to break into The Raft prison,” he says to Bucky as he picks up each piece in turn.

“Attack… attack jellyfish. There are attack jellyfish?”

“Well, someone genetically engineered them,” Steve explains. 

“So what, um… what do attack jellyfish eat?”

Fury stops moving for a second, but makes no comment and doesn’t look away from his task. While Steve explains that he doesn’t really know about the dietary habits of attack jellyfish, Fury selects one of the gadgets and again leaves the room.

Bucky glances at the door as it closes. Looking away from Steve, even for that brief moment, gives him a chance to try to get a handle on his emotions. The reality of Steve’s apology is beginning to sink in. The only reason Steve called, the only reason Bucky’s here, is because Steve  _ regrets _ the kisses that, for Bucky, were pretty much the highlight of his entire life. Bucky feels the beginnings of what he already knows will be hideous disappointment. He also feels like a world-class chump. 

When he turns his face back toward Steve, he forces his features into what he hopes is a neutral expression. He doesn’t want to pretend; that’s not who Bucky is. But he would like to get out of this room with at least some of his pride intact. Steve doesn’t need to know how crushed he is. “Look, I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” 

Bucky’s pretty sure the best he can expect from Steve now is a polite dismissal. He wants to get it over with so he can just leave. It’s quite clear that he’s in way over his head here.

But Steve doesn’t dismiss him. Instead, Steve studies him for a moment, his gaze serious but somehow charged with a magnetic energy. He slowly stands up and takes a step, then another, toward Bucky. Bucky stands, too, because the look in Steve’s eyes is suddenly the same one from the other day, and it’s pulling Bucky toward him as though he has no free will of his own.

Steve’s voice is low and a little gravelly as he asks, “It was inappropriate then, because I didn’t ask. But I’m asking now. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers weakly, because it is suddenly the only possible response. 

Each takes another step closer, and their arms are just beginning to raise when the door opens yet again. Fury sticks his head into the room. “One last question, then we have to go, Cap.”

With that, he withdraws and closes the door again. 

“Are you busy tonight?” Bucky hears himself ask. His heart is in his throat and he thinks maybe he might pass out waiting for Steve’s answer.

But Bucky doesn’t get the answer he expects, and certainly not the one he wants. 

“Yes, I am,” Steve says. 

Bucky waits, thinking Steve’s about to make a joke about having a date with Bucky. But Steve says nothing more, simply looks at him with a blank expression, or maybe no expression at all. The moment stretches agonizingly before Bucky stammers, “Oh. Uh, okay.”

He’s actually relieved when Director Fury once again opens the door and announces that the time for the interview is up. Bucky bids Steve an awkward goodbye, stunned and hurt once again and unable to meet his eye. He steps obediently out of the room. The hallway seems both too long and too short as he tries to begin to make any sense of the rollercoaster ride he’s just been on before he has to deal with people.

First Steve apologizes for kissing him, and then he asks to kiss him again? And then when Bucky asks… Bucky gives his head a vicious shake. What the hell? He wouldn’t have expected that Steve was the kind of guy who’d yank him around like this, but here he is, feeling like a small insect who’s been batted around by a particularly cruel cat. 

Forget it. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. He got to kiss Steve Rogers, and it was spectacular. He’ll just hang onto that. The rarified atmosphere of Stark Tower, the whole roomful of people waiting for five minutes with Captain America… That’s not who Bucky is, anyway. He was a glorified grunt, and now he’s a shopkeeper. It’s painfully obvious that mundane ordinariness is nowhere close to what Steve Rogers wants. He was an idiot to think anything different. 

He makes his way across the room filled with people he now knows to be reporters, packing up their laptops and saying their goodbyes to each other. Confused and dejected, Bucky takes his place in the little group waiting for the elevator. He is really looking forward to being out of the Tower. 

He doesn’t belong here.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Agent Hill’s voice calls to him from across the room. Bucky turns slowly around.

“Cap wants to see you. Would you step this way, please?”

Bucky almost says no. After the whiplash of emotions he’s experienced these last few minutes, he doesn’t think he has the energy for another dramatic rise or sickening plunge. He actually starts to say it, but Bucky Barnes has never been very good at giving up. It’s how he became the leader of the Howling Commandos. So he follows Maria Hill back to the small conference room anyway. 

Just like before, Steve is alone in the room, and Agent Hill closes the door behind Bucky. Bucky doesn’t smile. He can’t. He really doesn’t know what he wants out of this moment. 

“I had a thing,” Steve says, and his look is both penitent and beseeching. “But the thing I had… I don’t have it anymore. So I’m free tonight after all.”

Bucky feels almost paralyzed. It’s like the last few seconds before the light goes green and it’s his turn to grab the straps of his parachute pack and tumble out of the aircraft. When he doesn’t speak, Steve goes on.

“So, if you were free, too, I thought maybe we could go out. Together.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky manages to say. And just as he’s starting to question his impressions, thinking that maybe it’s not Steve but this bizarre situation that is the problem, the image of his friend Natasha flashes through his mind. “Oh, shit. I would, Steve, really, but I just remembered. It’s my friend’s birthday today. I’m supposed to have dinner with her and some other friends.” 

“Great,” Steve says, giving a Captain America smile. “I love birthday parties.”

“You…”

“I’ll be your date.”

Bucky, wrung out from the dizzying ride he’s just been on, is still trying to reboot his brain as he walks out the front entrance of Stark Tower toward the subway. 

* * *

From the moment Sam Wilson’s face appears in the doorway, Bucky watches him carefully. To his delight, he catches the exact moment when it registers with Sam who Steve is. Sam breaks into a wide smile and greets Steve warmly, shaking his hand and waving him in, then giving Bucky the expected “WTF” goggle-eyes behind Steve’s back. 

They step into the welcoming comfort of Sam and Riley’s living room, where Riley waits with his customary huge smile. Bucky has given Steve a heads up about Riley being shot down in Afghanistan and the fact that he uses a wheelchair, so there’s no awkwardness when they meet, even as Riley recognizes Steve.

“Oh, man! Barnes is even more of an asshole than I thought. He didn’t tell us who his date was. It’s an honor to meet you, Sir,” Riley says as they shake hands. 

“Oh, please, I’m just Steve. I hear you’re Air Force?”

“Sam and I both. That’s where we met. I’m Matthew Riley, but people just call me Riley.”

“I gotta tell you, Steve,” says Sam, “I’m with Riley on this. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Bucky is charmed to his toenails to see Steve actually blush at the compliment. He steps up next to Steve, close enough to feel his warmth and almost giddy with the knowledge that he’s allowed to do this because this beautiful man is his date.

“And that’s the nicest Sam will be to anyone, including you, for the rest of the night,” Bucky warns.

“Damn straight,” Sam confirms. “What’ll you drink, Cap?”

While Sam gets beers for everyone, Steve chats easily with Riley about his and Sam’s pararescue careers. Bucky notices again the way Riley frequently turns his head to fix his green eyes on Sam. They’ve been married for years, but there’s still a current between them that Bucky can feel when they’re together. Riley’s good-looking in a wholesome, corn-fed way with his shock of dishwater-blond hair and his ready grin, while Sam is no less than a knockout. Sam wears his hair military-short, which makes his large, almond-shaped deep brown eyes all the more noticeable. Riley’s somewhat of an aw-shucks kind of guy, as opposed to Sam’s biting, razor-sharp wit, and at first glance they seem as different as their contrasting skin colors would suggest. But it absolutely works between them.

It’s only a few minutes before there’s a knock at the door and Sam excuses himself to answer it.

When he returns, he has a striking redhead in tow. She’s small, just a few inches over five feet, but there’s a spring-loaded energy about her that Bucky sees Steve react to, turning to take her in fully.

“It’s the birthday girl!” Riley cries, throwing his arms wide in welcome. Natasha crosses to him and embraces him, giving him a quick, tight hug and kissing him on the cheek before she stands fully back up.

“How come you only greet Riley like that?” Sam asks, with obviously fake irritation.

“Because I only like Riley,” she responds, then turns to the rest of the group. Her eyes land on Steve and she’s suddenly on her guard. 

“Oh,” she says to Steve, raising an eyebrow. “No one told me we were doing Show and Tell tonight. Nice action figure, Barnes. Very lifelike.”

Steve gives her an ingratiating smile, to which she barely responds, but she does shake his offered hand. 

“I’m Steve Rogers. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. So you’re the stripper, or…?”

“Seriously, Natasha? He’s my date,” Bucky says, and his irritation is real. He puts a hand to the small of Steve’s back, making his message clear.

“Sorry, Barnes. It’s nice to meet you, Captain Rogers. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

No one in the room misses the fact that she apologized to Bucky, but not to Steve. 

“She never means to be rude,” Bucky says to Steve. “She just is.”

There’s some friendly shoving between Natasha and Bucky, and general chit chat while Sam gets Natasha a glass of wine without needing to ask what she wants. During the shoving, Bucky removes his hand from Steve’s back, unsure whether he’s allowed to keep it there but wishing he could put his arm fully around him. It’s surreal to have him here in this very familiar setting with his close friends. 

The doorbell rings again to admit Bucky’s friend Tony. Bucky hadn’t thought to tell Steve or Tony that they would both be here tonight. They greet each other warmly enough, even though theirs was just a somewhat standoffish business relationship. It was made more distant by the fact that Steve was only out of the ice for a little over a year before Tony was kidnapped, and then left Stark Industries to Pepper to run while he started his restaurant. 

“Capsicle!” Tony cries happily, “What are you doing here? Sam’s cooking is terrible, but I don’t think it’s quite bad enough to require Captain America to save us.” 

Steve smiles back, and the two exchange a hearty handshake. He makes a comment about Tony having let his black hair grow and sporting a new goatee, which tells the rest of them how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other. Tony’s hazel eyes sparkle with mischief when he realizes that Steve is here as Bucky’s date, but he has apparently chosen to behave.

“So how did you happen to meet Buckaroo?” Tony asks once Sam’s supplied him with a tumbler of whiskey. 

“We spent the other morning fighting crime together,” Steve deadpans. He goes on to explain the events of the morning he and Bucky met.

“So your eyes met across a crowded crime scene. Romantic.”

Steve blushes a little as he catches Bucky’s eye. Bucky feels self-conscious, but he also really likes the way Steve’s looking at him. 

Apparently it’s obvious, because Tony says, “Eew. The only time little moments like that aren’t gross is when it’s me and Pepper. Okay, so Riley, let’s have your verdict on that stuff I sent you.”

Tony and Riley are very quickly huddled together talking about something incomprehensibly technical involving some kind of flying suit.

Bucky leans in to Steve. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even occur to me to ask. Is it a problem that you’re both here?”

“Not at all! I don’t know him very well, but I think we get along okay.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because he’s become a good friend. I mean, he and I met because of my arm, but then the rest of us started going to his restaurant. He likes to hang out with his guests, and he just sort of clicked with this group. These days, we’re probably his best customers.”

“How’s the restaurant doing? I understand it’s something he’s always wanted to try.”

“He complains about things being slow, but then, Tony complains about everything.”

A while later, late as always, the last guest arrives. Bucky’s friend Clint is a very fit five-foot-nine, with light brown hair and ice-blue eyes. His smile is open and genuine as he shakes hands with Steve, and it’s instantly clear that there’s not a flicker of recognition in his face. Friends would, at this point, key Clint in to the fact that he’s talking to Captain America. Friends as close as this group, however, stand back and prepare to enjoy the show. Clint’s on his own, and there will be no mercy when, inevitably, he trips over his own tongue.

Now that all the guests have arrived, they settle into a comfortable sort of chaos, where several conversations happen at once, most of which involve mild teasing. It’s obviously fond, but clever and entertaining at the same time. Bucky sees Steve watching the interactions with an expression that is amused, but he thinks he sees a touch of melancholy, too, and wonders what that’s about. 

When Sam calls for some help in the kitchen, Bucky turns his head to look a question at Steve sitting next to him at the table. 

“Go. I’ll be fine,” Steve says, with a small smile that Bucky can  _ feel _ . He squeezes Steve’s arm as he gets up and, as he does, sees Clint returning from the kitchen after getting another beer. 

“Hey, talk to Steve while I help Sam,” Bucky says. 

“Yeah, see if you can help him to order pizza.”

“Be nice,” Bucky laughs, slapping Clint heartily on the back as they pass each other.

“So, Steve, what do you do?” Clint asks with friendly curiosity as he takes Bucky’s chair.

Steve is equally guileless as he answers, “I’m in the Army. What do you do?” 

“Well, nominally, I work for SHIELD, but I’m basically on permanent loan to Stark Industries’ aircraft division. I’m a test pilot.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. That’s a dangerous job.”

“Yeah, it can be. It’s quasi-military, but I guess not much like the Army. Although I’ve played paintball. What do you do in the Army?” 

“I lead special ops teams on various missions.” 

“Oh! Sweet! No wonder you and Bucky get along, with his military history. Guess you have to keep all that pretty hush-hush, eh?” 

Steve misses a beat or two before responding, “Yeah, not really. I actually have to do a lot of press.” 

“No kidding. Huh. How do you keep your face from becoming known to the enemy?”

“I… uh… don’t.”

Clint’s expression says that he’s very skeptical of this new guy, but he and Bucky are tight and it’s obvious Bucky’s gaga over this big hunk of beefcake, so he refrains from comment. 

It’s when Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom that Bucky and his friends take the opportunity to tell Clint who Steve is. Far from freaking out or being embarrassed, however, Clint’s simply delighted. They’ve known Clint for a long time. They really should have expected this reaction, which is both disappointing and endearing in equal measure.

He thinks the whole thing’s awesome, and when Steve returns to the room, he’s greeted by Clint shrieking gleefully, “Steve! Cap! You must think I’m a complete dumbass, not knowing who you are!” 

To Steve’s credit, he actually looks a little surprised. “Why would I think that? Seems a little arrogant to just assume that everyone recognizes me. I didn’t think it mattered, or I just would’ve told you.”

Bucky’s intrigued by the realization that what Steve’s just said is the simple truth. He looks around and notes that most of his friends see it, too, and are impressed. He also notes that Natasha is not one of those people.

At Riley’s direction, everyone pitches in to help separate the ends of the dinner table to put two big leaves into it, making it large enough for all of them. As they do, Clint amuses them all by going on and on about how funny it is that he’d failed to recognize Captain America, and imitating himself asking his questions. Natasha takes that moment to slink up next to Steve and — so quietly that only he hears her — murmurs, “Bucky and I are close. He’s like my little brother.”

Steve spends the next few minutes trying to figure out why he feels like he’s just been threatened.

The thing about dinner at Riley and Sam’s is that Sam Wilson cannot cook. And he insists on doing it anyway. But he’s a wise and compassionate counselor to combat veterans, a decorated veteran himself, a steadfast and generous friend, and on top of all that, funny as hell. So since he likes to cook for his friends, and they love him, they simply make it work. 

Bucky had no choice but to warn Steve beforehand. After all, Steve Rogers is a supersoldier with a super-metabolism, and can’t be expected to survive on the small amount of Sam’s cooking he’s likely to be able to ingest. So, like Bucky and everyone else at the party except Sam and Riley, Steve snacked heavily prior to arriving. 

Bucky works hard to find adjectives that are both kind and accurate to describe the soggy pasta and oddly sour sauce. It isn’t easy. He and Steve share more than one glance, first as Bucky tries to apologize without words for the food, and then as Steve acknowledges Bucky’s efforts to compliment Sam without outright lying. It’s another moment like the one in his bookshop: perfect, complex communication with no real need for words. Bucky actually shivers as Steve turns to laugh at something Riley says. 

He notices Steve’s eyes resting for long periods on himself and his friends, with that expression he’d seen on Steve’s face earlier. Whatever’s behind it, he doesn’t communicate it to Bucky, but again the word “melancholy” comes to mind. If he had to guess, Bucky would suggest maybe Steve looks wistful, like a child giving a backward glance at an amusement park his parents are leaving before he’s ready. It strikes something in Bucky that makes him want to hold Steve and comfort him.

They’re all enjoying dessert, because it’s a large store-bought birthday cake and therefore edible, when Sam goes to the refrigerator. When he returns to the table, he sits down in his chair with an unopened beer in his hand, as though displaying it. 

Everyone can see from his expression that he’s about to make some sort of announcement, so the conversation tapers off and everyone turns to Sam. He begins, “Having you here, Steve, clinches something I’ve suspected for a long time. This group here? Complete and total losers. Every one of us.”

Everyone starts to object, Tony boos, and someone throws a wadded-up napkin at Sam. Undaunted, he continues. “Naw, man, it’s not a bad thing! In fact, I think we should take pride in it. Embrace and celebrate the fact that, individually and collectively, we suck. So here’s what I’mma do. I’m going to give the last beer as a prize to the biggest fuckup at this table.”

“What?” Bucky cries. “How come Clint gets the last beer?”

Amid general laughter, Clint grins and shrugs in agreement. “Bucky’s right. It is literally my job to be expendable. I fly around in aircraft I barely understand, because the folks who design them barely understand them. They’re just like ‘Well, let’s put Clint in it and see what happens.’ I am less important than that chimp and the dog who went into space. At least their work made the news. I can’t get life insurance, because, well… So even if I could manage to find someone to love me, I couldn’t take care of them.”

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, but you make a lot of money. Whereas Natasha gets union scale for dancing her ass off in the worst show in the history of off-off-off-Broadway.”

Natasha is surprisingly nonchalant as she agrees. “And it’s some kind of weird-ass interpretive shit instead of the ballet I gave the future of my lower limbs to study. So I can look forward to using a cane by forty. My last two boyfriends turned out to be killers bent on world domination, and no one will marry me because I’m entirely capable of strangling them with my thighs.”

Steve puts a hand to his throat, and Bucky can see that it’s only half in jest.

“Natasha’s thighs actually work,” Riley chimes in. “Whereas I’m stuck in this wheelchair day and night in a house full of ramps. And to add insult to serious injury, Game of Thrones is over. So there will never again be new fodder for my Jaime Lannister obsession. Pass me the beer.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam shouts over the laughter. “I mean, look at Bucky. He’s very unsuccessful, for all we know he has never had a boyfriend, he used to be in shape, now he’s got a bit of a Homer Simpson thing happening, and he’s certainly never going to hear from Steve again once Steve knows his real name is James.”

Everyone groans and makes gagging noises. Bucky shouts in horror. “Hey!!!”

When everyone just continues to laugh, Bucky grumbles, “Great, Sam. Thank you for that. I can’t believe you went there, but then again, you’re a total bastard. At least I get the last beer.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Tony exclaims, actually standing at his place at the table. “I’ve invented thousands of unbelievably cool things, including popsockets. I inherited millions, and turned it into billions. I could be sitting pretty in my penthouse with a strawberry blonde who’s entirely too hot for me.”

“Poor fucking billionaire! For fuck’s sake, Tony, get to the part where you suck!” Riley shouts.

“Pepper is far, far, too hot for you,” Natasha deadpans, quietly but somehow managing to be heard nonetheless.

Tony holds up a hand for silence. “But I had a dream of starting my robo-restaurant. It matters to me, guys. I’ve worked harder at it than just about anything else I’ve ever done. But Pepper controls the purse strings now, and she always thought my restaurant was a joke. She refuses to throw good money after bad, so if I don’t get people to come there to eat, I won’t even be able to pay the staff, and they work for the occasional squirt of WD-40.”

There’s a general consensus that Tony is screwed. He’s reaching for the beer, which Sam is holding out to him, when Steve speaks. 

“Wait! What about me?” 

Every head at the table swivels to stare at him and a stunned silence descends over the group.

Bucky is the first to speak. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’ve seen the news stories about you, right? Got a mirror? How could you possibly think you deserve the last beer?”

“Gimme a shot at it, anyway,” Steve says, and Bucky finds the stubborn set of his jaw adorable.

“Well, you’ll have to prove it,” Bucky replies skeptically as Sam lifts the bottle of beer from the table and begins to make Vanna White motions at it. “I mean, it’s a Heineken.” 

Steve takes a breath. “I fight bad guys for a living, which means whenever I meet someone new they usually try to kill me. The U.S. government can’t decide whether to imprison me or have me bronzed. The media is never satisfied with the amount of blood I’m leaking after any battle, and let’s not forget the excruciatingly painful process it took to get me looking like this.” He raises arms to indicate his body.

“And no matter what I do, no matter how horrible and terrifying the threat is, or how close I come to dying to protect the world, all anyone can see is how much property damage happens as a result. The worst part is, I may save mankind from enslavement, I may protect a city of millions from eradication, but whenever I don’t save every single person in that city, the media acts like I killed them personally.” 

Bucky’s heart gives a lurch at the little crack in Steve’s voice as he finishes. “And, to be honest, that’s how it feels to me, too.”

Six faces gape at him, shocked silent. In that moment, each of them — and Bucky most of all — realizes for the first time what it means to be Captain America. The silence goes on for a beat, then two before Sam speaks. 

“Nice try gorgeous, but you don’t fool anyone.” 

Bucky shouts over the relieved laughter that overtakes the table. “That’s all you got? Pathetic!”

Tony makes the most of being awarded the last beer.

The rest of the evening is spent in lazy, contented conversation. Bucky notices over and over the deeply thoughtful way Steve continues to watch the group’s interactions.

When it’s after midnight and all the wine is gone, the evening begins to wind down. Steve leans in to Bucky next to him at the table and murmurs in his ear, “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

It takes Bucky a second to get over the hot chills that run up his spine at the seductive note in Steve’s voice. When he does, the two get up and begin to say their goodbyes.

“Thank you, Sam,” Steve says sincerely as he shakes Sam’s hand. “I appreciate you welcoming me into your home. And thank you for an… amazing dinner.”

“No problem, man. Anytime.”

Riley tells Steve again what a pleasure it’s been to meet him. “Love your work.”

“Good to meet you, too, Riley. Hope to see you again.”

Tony and Clint stop giving Bucky shit for long enough to shake hands with Steve, too. Natasha gives Bucky a hug, but simply nods at Steve. Once. 

And then Bucky and Steve are outside in the cool, clear night, walking down the street toward Bucky’s apartment and the subway station beyond so Steve can return to Manhattan. It seems quiet on the Brooklyn street after the clamor of the group inside Sam and Riley’s first-floor apartment.

“James, huh?” Steve teases gently, and bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s.

“You call me that and I promise, I will end you. Even with my Homer Simpson body.”

It’s a lovely night, and a romantic walk, even though Bucky doesn’t have the courage to reach for Steve’s hand. They talk about everything, and nothing, sharing a few impressions of the evening. There aren’t that many to share, though, because Bucky seems to have intuitively understood how Steve was feeling all night. 

Except for one thing.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“’Course, Buck. Ask me anything.”

Bucky almost forgets how to speak as a result of his powerful reaction to Steve’s shortening of his nickname. Something about the way Steve says it makes it sound like an endearment.

“I kept thinking you seemed a little sad tonight. Or maybe not sad, but… pensive, I guess?”

Steve smiles and, to Bucky’s eternal joy, takes Bucky’s hand in his, entwining their fingers before answering.

“You’re just a very lucky guy. You and your friends seem like you really know each other. Like you’ve had a long time to build what you have.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ve known Tony for the shortest amount of time, and that’s been a couple years now. The rest of us, it’s been at least a decade.”

“That’s special. You don’t know how valuable that shared history is. Take it from me. Since Peggy Carter died, there’s no one I’ve known for a decade who’s still alive.”

Bucky stops walking and turns to Steve in the middle of the sidewalk. He takes Steve’s other hand in his so that he’s holding both. “I’m sorry, Steve. That’s rough.”

“Not sayin’ it so you’ll feel sorry for me. I just hope you all appreciate what you have, that’s all.”

Bucky takes a step closer to Steve. “I think we do. And if I haven’t said it yet, I appreciate you being my date tonight. They liked you a lot.”

“Natasha hates me.”

“Natasha doesn’t hate you. She’s just waiting to see if she needs to kill you. She’s protective.”

“Is she more than a ballerina?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“I can’t answer that question. Natasha’s past is… complicated.” They smile at each other and, from some well of courage he didn’t realize he possessed, Bucky manages to ask, “Do you wanna go to my place?”

Steve frowns, but doesn’t move away or drop Bucky’s hands. “Too complicated,” he murmurs reluctantly. “But are you busy tomorrow?” 

“I thought you were going back upstate tomorrow.”

Steve’s eyes latch onto Bucky’s in the light of a streetlamp as he answers, “I was.”

Bucky smiles and says, “I’m free tomorrow.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Okay,” Bucky breathes, and Steve turns them to continue their walk down the street, keeping Bucky’s hand in his.

They amble a few blocks, in absolutely no hurry to get anywhere, laughing softly and flirting, until they come upon an ivy-covered brick wall with a gate. The wall is too high to see over, but through the bars of the wrought iron gate, they can glimpse an old fashioned, formal English garden. Bucky sees Steve give a short gasp, then look to the side of the gate, where there is a small bronze plaque with numbers on it. 

Steve swears softly.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, concerned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Is this DePuy Street?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

Steve smiles mysteriously at Bucky and says, “Let’s go in.” 

“We’re not allowed. It’s a communal garden, owned by the houses around the outside. Only the people who live there can go in.” 

“Do you always obey the rules?” 

“Says Captain America. If you go in there, I guarantee someone will film you and in ten minutes, you’ll be on Instagram. In fifteen, you’ll be dishonorably discharged and asking me for a job.” 

“Nah. It’s okay. I think this is where... Listen, if we get caught, I’ll just play the ‘frozen for seventy years’ card. It’ll work.”

Bucky stands, smiling crookedly at Steve, looking just a bit incredulous. 

“What?”

“That’s terrible! You’re shameless! I can’t believe this. Captain America, symbol of truth and justice and shit, would use a national tragedy for personal gain.”

“What national tragedy?  _ I’m _ the one who was under the damn ice. So are you coming, or not?”

Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand and grabs the top of the gate. From a standing start, he simply leaps, easily getting to a position where his arms are supporting his weight on the top of the gate and he can just throw his legs over and jump down the other side. He lands lightly and opens the gate from the inside for Bucky to enter.

“C’mon,” Steve says with a mischievous grin, and walks into the garden. It’s beautiful, softly lit by the indirect light of the city, with English boxwoods trained into an intricate square pattern, and small footlights along the sides of the many meandering walkways. There are well-tended beds of roses on the edges of areas of lush grass. Steve stops, looking back at Bucky, who’s practically tiptoeing in his nervousness. He has some ideas for the way this date should end, and being arrested is not one of them. 

Bucky reaches Steve and stands very close. “Not that that wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, but are you sure this garden is worth your career?” 

Steve doesn’t answer. He reaches out and takes Bucky’s hands in his, pulling him gently in. Steve separates Bucky’s hands and keeps pulling until he can wrap Bucky’s arms around his waist, then lets go and encircles Bucky in his own arms. Bucky gasps, just a little, as Steve tips his face to kiss him. Softly at first, exploring and testing, then with more intent as he runs one hand up Bucky’s shoulder to bury his fingers in Bucky’s hair. 

It’s a kiss that stops time, that obliterates all that isn’t Steve, and focuses Bucky so entirely on what he’s feeling that he doesn’t even care that he’s making little whimpering noises and clutching Steve to him. He’s wanted to kiss Steve all night. Hell, he’s wanted to kiss Steve for years, and has thought of nothing else since he actually got to do it in the foyer of his house. And just like those kisses, the way Steve’s kissing him now has Bucky enslaved. 

He can only follow Steve, open to his tongue when he feels the gentle request, cling to him so that his weak knees won’t buckle. Bucky’s body revs into gear and he feels Steve moving against him the same way he’s beginning to move against Steve. Bucky knows, without the slightest doubt, that he’s never been kissed like this. Steve’s mouth fits his as though they were made for only this purpose, and his firm, demanding lips keep drawing those soft sounds from Bucky as his tongue dares Bucky to be bolder. Steve’s making his own sounds, which tell Bucky as clearly as the heavy weight of Steve’s cock against the front of his hip that Steve is feeling all of this, too. 

Bucky has absolutely no idea how long they stand there devouring one another’s mouths, pressed together and rubbing against one another. What he knows is that he wants Steve more than he has ever wanted anyone in his life.

“You’re right,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s lips as the kiss slows. “This is one hell of a garden.”

Steve grins a little smugly, well aware of what he’s done to Bucky. He turns, taking Bucky’s hand again, and they walk slowly along the paths, enjoying the carefully-planned and beautifully maintained garden. They’re on the other side from where they entered when they come across a lovely bench, made of stone with carefully-preserved wooden slats for the seat and back. In the middle of the top slat on the backrest is an inscription. Bucky reads it aloud.

“For Peggy who loved this garden, and for Daniel who always sat beside her.” Under the inscription are the dates 1921-2016 and 1919-2004. 

Steve makes a hiccupping sound that surprises Bucky into turning toward him to put a hand on each of his shoulders. “Steve?”

“Peggy Carter and her husband. She told me about this garden before she died.” Steve’s not crying, but his voice isn’t steady, either.

“Oh, Steve. She was your… You loved her.”

“I did. I’m so glad she got her happy ending after all.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Some people do spend their whole lives together,” Steve marvels.

Although they spend some time in the garden after that, the romantic mood’s been a little taken over by Steve’s bittersweet memories.

Afterward, when they’re about a block down the street, Steve says, “I’m sorry. I seem to have killed the mood.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I know a bit about what you’ve been through. I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like, but I care. Anyway, I think the mood’s more wounded than dead.” Bucky gives Steve a playful nudge with his hip as they walk. “We’ll pick it back up tomorrow, huh? For tonight, let me just be a friend.”

“You’re somethin’, Buck,” Steve says softly, squeezing his hand. “I can’t remember the last person I liked talking with as much as I liked kissing ‘em.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and his question is soft because Steve’s taken his breath away.

“Yeah.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. Bucky and Steve Go On A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky enjoy a romantic dinner at a nice restaurant until they overhear a conversation they wish they hadn't. Still, they don't let it ruin their evening, and Steve invites Bucky up to his apartment in the Tower. Bucky wants nothing more - until he gets there.
> 
> Done with Steve, Bucky agrees to let his friends set him up on some blind dates, which go about as well as blind dates usually do.

The restaurant is housed in an old brick building that was, at one time, a factory or warehouse. The décor is gritty and industrial, which gives it a casual and relaxed vibe, even though the linens, tableware and meticulous service maintain an air of exclusive elegance. It’s so popular it’s nearly impossible to get reservations. Unless, of course, you’re Captain America. 

The host leads Steve and Bucky to a table ingeniously situated to be out of direct sight lines of other tables, lit by the soft light of a candle burning in a squat, wrought-iron lantern in the middle of the table. At least thirty feet above, from the exposed rafters of the space, hang massive metal chandeliers. Sculpted from some thick, matte-black metal, they give plenty of indirect light to see, but not so much that the candle doesn’t cast an intimate glow. 

The restaurant is essentially one huge room with tables lining a mezzanine along three of the thick, brick walls. The main floor is separated into more intimate dining spaces by a maze of brick partitions, each about six feet tall and seemingly as solid as the outer walls of the restaurant. These partitions and a forest of large, potted trees placed throughout the huge space give visual privacy and dampen sound. Bucky feels like he’s alone with Steve, even though they’re surrounded by other diners. 

Steve looks insanely good in a crisp, blue button-down shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a jacket and slacks several shades darker. He makes a point of complimenting Bucky — twice — on his burgundy crew-neck sweater and gray flannel slacks. It’s worth the hours Bucky’s going to have to spend the next day picking up all the clothes he tried on and rejected, tossing them wherever they landed in his desperation to find the right outfit. 

They’ve laughed quite a bit, but the conversation hasn’t been all light. Steve’s shared with Bucky his growing concern about the situation on Wall Street, where the person bent on destroying the world economy hasn’t stopped trying. Robot stockbrokers sound funny until you’re actually fighting them.

Now, over coffee, Steve leans in on his elbows, his expression serious when he asks, “Can I ask why you left the military?” 

Bucky frowns. “Well, the reasons I joined up are a lot like the reasons you did. Wanted to do my duty, protect the country. Didn’t have a war like you did, but I grew up with the stories about my great-grandfather. Wanted to be like him.”

“Makes sense.” 

“Turns out, I got somewhat of a talent for certain things, just like he did. But I enlisted to protect people. I never set out to become an assassin. Definitely not… the guy I became. Even though my identity was classified as all hell,  _ I _ knew. And I also, um, I don’t know if you knew that I’d been taken prisoner for a while. That messed me up some. It got me early eligibility for a pension, so I got out.” 

There’s no judgment in Steve’s eyes when he puts a hand over Bucky’s. “I did know about the time Hydra held you prisoner. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I don’t talk about that part much.”

“Understood. I also understand what you said about being an assassin. I don’t know if anyone besides me calls me that, but I’ve definitely got blood on my hands. Bad guys or not, they’re still lives.”

Bucky’s voice is gravelly and whatever his vacant blue-gray eyes are looking at isn’t in a trendy Greenwich Village restaurant as he says, “Some nights, it don’t matter what they’d done to get on Uncle Sam’s shit list. It was still my finger on the trigger.”

“Nightmares?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Me, too.” Steve moves his hand so he can lace their fingers together. 

In the moment of quiet bonding that follows, the slightly-slurred voice of a man speaking just a bit too loud drifts over the six-foot brick partition behind Steve from the table just on the other side. 

“Captain America? Pssht. He really isn’t all that.”

Steve looks up into Bucky’s eyes and they smirk silently.

“Right? Those muscles are all for show,” another male voice agrees. Bucky reaches over and gives one of Steve’s biceps a squeeze with an approving nod and a wink.

A female voice then says, “I don’t really care. You’ve seen the posters, yeah? They get him out of that uniform, grease him up… only one muscle I’m interested in.”

Bucky has to put a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh. Steve’s blushing vivid red, which just makes Bucky laugh harder. Steve gives him a “spare me” look, but Bucky uses his eyebrows and grin to rub it in.

“Listen, though, it’s not funny,” the first voice cuts in, and now he’s talking louder. “I mean, the taxpayers are footing the bill for all that, you know. Him and all those SHIELD idiots, just laying around doing greased-up photo shoots in their skyscraper. But what do we get out of it?”

The woman replies, “Well, those posters...” 

Steve looks adorable in his discomfort, but he’s being a good sport about it. Bucky keeps silently mocking him, but squeezes Steve’s fingers fondly as he does it.

“I don’t buy that whole wholesome act, either. Guy’s queer as a three-dollar bill, you know. He acts all proud of it, but I don’t want the only thing standing between me and some alien army to be a fairy poncing around in tights.”

“I’m with you there. Rather have a real man defending me.”

Bucky feels like the guy’s just thrown a bucket of ice water over him. Every atom of warmth and enjoyment in the moment has instantly been destroyed.

“I doubt those muscles are even real. All steroids. He’s probably no stronger than you or me in real life.”

“Yeah, Lorraine, and that muscle you like so much, you know he’s stickin’ it up-“

“You don’t know that, Dave. Could be Captain America’s the kind who likes takin’ it.”

Now it’s Bucky’s face that turns red. He’s furious. Steve shakes his head and holds a hand up, telling him to let it go.

The talk continues, returning to viciously denigrating Captain America until, at last, Bucky moves to stand. 

“Don’t, Buck. There’s really no point.”

“Are you kidding me? I can take the bigoted bullshit, but after all you’ve gone through for those useless fucks?”

“It’s okay. It goes with the territory.”

“Well, it shouldn’t!” Bucky’s whisper is an outraged hiss.

“Don’t really appreciate that fuckin’ sissy wearin’ my flag, either. Useless fag.”

That’s it. Bucky sees the words hit their mark and the pain in Steve’s eyes has him reaching for his SAW. Fortunately for Bucky, he’s not currently armed (okay, there are a couple of knives), but he’s not letting this go on any longer. 

He tries to hide his rage and keep his voice level as he stands and, in four strides, is past the partition and facing a tableful of half-drunk business types. They all look up and, although he’s doing his best, it’s obvious Bucky’s furious. “I wish I hadn’t overheard your conversation, but I did, and I think you’re forgetting that Steve Rogers is a real person, who fights that alien army, while the rest of us run and hide. He’s shed a lot of blood to protect this planet. To protect  _ you _ . And he deserves better than having you talk about him like that.”

The drunks look at Bucky with blank expressions and don’t respond. In part, that’s because they’re not so drunk they can’t sense that the guy speaking to them is  _ dangerous _ . Bucky’s sweater doesn’t hide his physique or his metal arm, and he’s instinctively taken a stance that tells them he’s ready to fight. He’s coiled like a snake, barely holding in his anger. None of them say anything as Bucky glares at them each in turn. When he feels Steve tug on his hand, he lets himself be pulled away from the table.

Steve gets Bucky walking toward the exit. Bucky’s still livid, but he’s trying to shake it off as he apologizes to Steve.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but that was all just so unfair — “

“No need to apologize, Buck. There was a time I’d have done the same thing.” Steve suddenly stops in his tracks. “In fact…”

Steve lets go of Bucky’s hand and turns back. His stride is deceptively loose and easy as he approaches the table full of drunks. Bucky is riveted to the spot as he watches, with absolutely no idea what Steve might be about to do. Whatever it is, his strut on the way to do it is hot as hell.

The occupants of the table are still in the process of recovering from Bucky’s visit, beginning to look at one another and work up to being offended by his eavesdropping. Even from where Bucky stands, he can see the blood drain from every face as they notice Steve’s approach. He gives them a few beats to make sure they all recognize him.

Steve goes full-on Captain America, all shoulders, deep voice, and winning smile. “Hey, hi, you guys. Listen, I’m sorry my friend interrupted your conversation. I know you were just kidding around. He’s just sensitive, you know how us poncing fairies can be.” 

At that moment, he pretends to notice the tree next to the partition around the table. “Hey, this is a real tree. Well, that’s not very sanitary, is it? I’m sure you guys don’t want that thing so close to where you’re eating. Let me just take care of that for you.”

First, he knocks on the bricks, making sure the partition is as sturdy as it appears. Once satisfied, Steve bends down to pick up the pot, which is ceramic and easily three feet in diameter. He stands back up, holding the pot in his arms, and his muscles strain against the fabric of his jacket. The six-foot tree now towers above his head. The whole thing has to weigh between four and five hundred pounds. Steve looks up toward the rafters of the room, two stories above. Then he bends his knees and jumps  — tree and all  — to the top of the six-foot partition. He sets the pot down, casually fluffs the leaves a bit, then springs lightly back down to the floor.

“That’s better,” he says, smiling sweetly at each of the now slack-jawed faces around the table. “Now you can enjoy your dinner. Try the house salad, it’s excellent.” 

Steve turns and treats Bucky to a frontal view of Captain America strutting proudly away from the table, satisfied with a good deed done. When he reaches Bucky, he makes a point of putting an arm around him and kissing his temple as they exit the restaurant together.

* * *

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m rash and impulsive, and I never could back down from a fight. Please don’t let anyone there have been filming.”

“What? Steve, that was so hot, you don’t even know. I’m  _ praying _ somebody was filming.”

Steve facepalms and groans for about the tenth time in as many blocks. They’re standing across the street from Stark Tower now, facing each other. “I just see something and I go for it, without thinking. For example, what am I doin’ with you?”

Bucky misses a beat before answering, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either.” And then that magnetic look is in Steve’s eyes again. “Do you wanna come up?

Bucky wants that more than anything, but he hesitates. “There seem to be lots of reasons why I shouldn’t.”

“There are lots of reasons,” Steve agrees, but he just turns up the intensity in his eyes as he repeats, “Do you wanna come up?”

“Yes.” 

Steve grins. “Gimme five minutes to talk Friday into letting you in. I’m on floor eighty.”

For the next five minutes, Bucky tries with minimal success to process the idea that he is about to be in Steve Rogers’ apartment in Stark Tower. That he, Bucky Barnes, who is currently adjusting his gray flannel slacks over the idea, is going to get more of those molten kisses, and might even possibly get to… 

Bucky pops another breath mint ( _ Barnes you pathetic dork, he musta kissed you seven times on the walk here, your breath is fine _ ) and crosses the street.

He approaches the reception desk with trepidation. The gray-haired man behind the desk looks pleasant enough, but this is Stark Tower. The guy’s probably armed to the teeth.

“I’m here to see Steve Rogers. He’s expecting me.” Bucky stands, tense, ready to be challenged, or shot, or at least tossed out on his can. 

Instead, the man smiles kindly and pushes a button, activating some kind of scanner whose source Bucky can’t determine. A flat disc of red light appears above his head, then lowers smoothly to surround him beginning at the top of his head, moving down to his feet, then back up again. There is no noise. The guy doesn’t tell Bucky he has to stand still or anything, but Bucky holds his breath and freezes until it’s over.

“Welcome, Sergeant Barnes,” he hears, in Friday’s lovely Irish brogue. “Please use the private elevators to your left. Mr. Jeffries will escort you.”

The gray-haired man is apparently Mr. Jeffries, because he quite politely escorts Bucky to an elevator, inserts a key, and pushes the button for Steve’s floor. 

“Have a good night,” he says, as the doors whoosh closed.

Bucky’s smiling as he knocks on Steve’s apartment door.

But when Steve answers, he is a little gray, and clearly upset. The first words out of his mouth are, “You’ve gotta go.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, and the roller coaster plunge feeling from the press event hits him in the gut.

“Because my boyfriend, who is supposed to be on another planet is, in fact, now in the next room.” 

_ What. _ “Boyfriend?”

“Yes.” There’s a pleading in Steve’s eyes.

Bucky feels the same disorientation, the same emotional whipsaw he’d felt at the press event, magnified a thousand times. This whole thing has all been a lie. Steve Rogers, the beautiful, fascinating, romantic man with whom he’s just had the best date of his life, has a boyfriend. Captain America, supposed paragon of honesty and fairness, is a lying cheat. Right here, right now, Bucky hits his limit. He doesn’t think – can’t really – just reacts. He takes a step toward Steve who, as intended, backs up so that he can enter the room.

Where he finds Loki, all six-foot-four inches of him clad in green and black leather. 

Of course. Because why the fuck would it  _ not _ be an Asgardian prince and god of fucking mischief? Not to mention the brother of Bucky’s roommate, whom Bucky has described to Steve by name and in detail. What excuse could Steve possibly have for not mentioning that he at least  _ knows _ Thor’s brother? If not to Bucky, then to Thor, when they’d spoken on the phone?

Steve never said a word.

Loki stands, fiercely arrogant in his annoyed boredom. He gives Bucky a disdainful up and down survey, then practically snarls, “Who is this, darling?”

But Steve is gaping like a fish and apparently entirely tongue-tied, because he simply stands mute, wearing that horrified expression. 

As confused and furious as Bucky is, he still finds himself trying to protect Steve. Who knows what Loki might do to Steve if he thought he was seeing another man? As much as Steve deserves the consequences of lying to both of them, Bucky knows enough about Loki to expect that the punishment might well outweigh the crime. Thinking fast, he says, “I’m from the Food Network. Following up on a story.”

Loki’s slight smile is even more sinister than the irritated look he’d been wearing. “I didn’t realize Friday let reporters up here.”

“I just needed to get Captain America’s take on, uh… hot dogs. It’s, you know, an Americana kind of piece we’re doing.”

“Hot dogs! Oh, by all the gods, spare me any discussion of hot dogs.” He turns his gaze on Steve. “You don’t eat those disgusting tubes of offal, do you? No, of course you don’t. At least, you’d better not.”

Loki then addresses Bucky again. “What in all the hells is wrong with Midgardians? I cannot stomach even the idea of most of the things you people consume. That’s why I’m very particular about what this one eats.” He tosses his head in Steve’s general direction.

“Yeah. I suppose you’ve got a point.”

Loki gets a sudden gleam in his eye. His mouth twists into the most terrifying approximation of a charming smile Bucky’s ever seen. “Having said that, I do enjoy falafel. In fact, if you’re from the Food Network, I feel certain you could tell me where the best falafel in the city can be had.”

“I can’t recommend a place unless we have a contract with them, so—“

Loki’s bored look soon seeps back into his face and he actually turns away from Bucky as he’s speaking. He begins to walk into another room of Steve’s apartment, then stops a few steps outside the door. Turning back, he snaps his fingers as though he’s just had a brilliant idea. The terrible smile is back.

“No need to tell me the name of the place. Just call in an order for me, won’t you? There’s a good fellow.” 

Bucky hears a gasp of horror beside him. Steve utters a strangled, “That’s not his job.”

“What is your name, Food Network man?” 

“Clint,” Bucky blurts, because fuck this guy.

“Well, Clint,” Loki says, his oily voice making Bucky feel like he needs two showers, “It’s your lucky day, then. You get the honor of ordering falafel for a god, and it’s not even your job.”

“Loki, no…” Steve squeaks.

Loki saunters over to Steve at that. Encroaching entirely on Steve’s personal space, despite the fact that Steve actually leans away from him, Loki puts his arms around Steve, grabbing two full handfuls of Steve’s butt. He leans in and kisses Steve. Bucky’s not sure how a man kisses with derision, but Loki manages it.

“I find it adorable that you are so dazzled by my visit. Clearly it was a brilliant idea to surprise you.”

Steve just swallows loudly and grunts, “Uh-huh.”

“He’s lying, of course,” Loki says, keeping his hands on Steve’s ass as he turns his face to Bucky. “He hates surprises.”

Bucky has to swallow down his nausea as Loki turns back to Steve and says in a sickeningly sweet murmur, “Shall I order for you?”

“Huh?”

Loki rudely and dismissively tosses his head toward Bucky. “From him, the falafel. I shall order for you.”

“I don’t want any.” Bucky can hardly believe that choked, helpless voice is coming from the same man who, not two hours ago, box-jumped six feet straight up holding five hundred pounds and then strutted his way across a restaurant like it was a catwalk.

“Well, that’s probably best,” Loki agrees, letting Steve go and making his way back toward the other room. “You don’t need the calories and I’d prefer you use the time to do some crunches and a few hundred pushups. I don’t want people saying, ‘He’s an Asgardian Prince, what’s he doing with that soft tub of lard?’” Loki’s cruel laugh continues to soil the air as he ambles into the other room.

Bucky forces his eyes from the doorway back to Steve, who looks stunned and sick. He hates that he actually feels a little sorry for him, because Steve Rogers is clearly nothing like the man Bucky thought he was. He’s been lying to Bucky since the moment they met, and Bucky can’t get out of this apartment fast enough. He tries for nonchalance as he says, “Yeah. I’m out. But, hey, at least I can put that internet rumor about Loki being dead to rest.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve mutters, head down, avoiding Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky wants his voice to sound cold and unemotional as he answers, but he can’t help the note of regret that sneaks in. “I think goodbye is traditional.” 

He lets himself out. The last glimpse he has of Steve is him standing, head hanging in mortification, in the middle of his living room. 

Bucky sees six different photographs of Steve on his way back to Cobble Hill. They’re on subway ads, newsstands, and even one electronic billboard. He tries to nurture his anger. Because he  _ is _ furious with Steve for his dishonesty and manipulation, and equally angry with himself for being so naïve. But the truth is, he’d rather feel that than the abject humiliation he’s trying to hold off. Worse, so much worse, is the tearing, rending, crushing sense of loss.

* * *

“Friend Bucky, you have been miserable for a week, and I must protest. Your glum countenance and frequent sighs are, in the Midgardian phrase, ‘bumming me in.’”

Bucky’s automatic correction is listless and distracted, like everything else he’s said in the last week.

“Out, then. Come, friend. Talk to me. I am more than just a pretty face.”

That actually gets the ghost of a grin from Bucky. He’s slouched in his favorite reading chair, re-reading one of the volumes on the Civil War years from Allan Nevins’  _ Ordeal Of The Union _ . It’s dense and difficult reading, just what Bucky wants right now to keep his mind occupied. Thor sits on the edge of the couch peering at him, his face an open, eager invitation. Thor’s sincere concern is enough to make Bucky feel the prickling burn of tears behind his eyes. Again.

But he really is in trouble here. Maybe it’ll help to talk about it, and who would understand better than Thor?

“I, um… I met your brother.”

Thor sits up straight. “Loki! He is here on Midgard?”

“Apparently it was a surprise. For his boyfriend.”

“Loki has a boyfriend? I was not aware of this. But then, I have been away from Asgard for some time.”

“Yeah, well, he does. And it’s the guy I had dinner with last week.”

“I do not understand. You said that your dinner was a date. I was very pleased for you.”

“Me, too. But, apparently, the guy’s already taken. By Loki.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Oh, Loki made that absolutely clear.” It actually hurts Bucky’s throat to form the words, and he is entirely unable to hide his pain.

“He is adopted, you know,” Thor says, patting Bucky’s knee far too hard in a well-intentioned attempt to comfort him.

Bucky groans and lets his head fall back against his chair. “Steve and I talked about you. He spoke to you on the phone. Why would he not say anything about knowing Loki unless he was deliberately keeping their relationship a secret?” 

“Well, not everyone is proud of being associated with my brother…”

“Don’t even try it, Thor. Don’t try to excuse Steve. He  _ lied _ to me. He had a boyfriend and pretended not to even  _ know _ the guy. He made a complete and utter fool out of me, and I let him. And you know the worst part? I’m sitting here aching because I’ll never see him again. Why the hell would I even want to?”

“Love, friend Bucky. Never to be trusted. And you have not done battle with love for — well, ever, if mine eyes are any judge. I am not surprised it has bested you.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Thor.”

“Come. Tell me of this man. You obviously care for him a great deal.”

“I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near him, because he’s someone I can never have. But I did, and now I know what it’s like to be around him, and to kiss him, and it’s everything I ever wanted. I can’t even be mad at him, even though he’s a cheating scumbag, because Loki treats him like dirt — no offense — and he just seemed like such a good person I keep thinking there must be some explanation. I’m so screwed. I’d give anything never to have met him. Because now I know what I can never have.”

“Indeed, friend. I am sorry. You have made a horrible miscalculation, and now you must pay the price.” Thor slaps Bucky on the shoulder and it’s like a wrecking ball.

“Thanks, that’s very helpful,” Bucky grunts as he rolls his shoulder to ensure that it’s still in its socket.

* * *

Tony’s restaurant is woefully devoid of customers, but Bucky finds that a relief. It’s good just to be here with Sam, Riley, Natasha and Clint. And their servers Dum-E and U, who by this time count as friends, too. 

Sam’s voice is kind, but he can’t entirely hide the slight note of incredulity behind it when he says to Bucky, “You didn’t know he had a boyfriend?”

“No,” Bucky groans. “Why, did you?”

Sam shrugs in confirmation. Bucky then turns to Riley and Natasha, who both nod sympathetically.

“Yeah, dude. It was on all the gossip sites,” Clint says with a rueful twist of his lips.

“Well, shit,” Bucky spits. “You mean I could have avoided getting my guts ripped out if only I surfed TMZ?”

Sam refills Bucky’s wine glass. “Look, this was always gonna happen. Steve’s almost as much of a god as Thor and his slimy brother. You know what happens to mortals who get involved with gods.”

“Teeth kicked in, public mockery, eternal shame and regret?” Bucky’s woeful voice comes from between the hands covering his face.

“Every time,” Sam confirms. “But don’t despair. I think I have the solution to your problems. His name is Vision. Not quite sure where he’s from, and you do have to be careful what you wear so as not to clash with his skin. But you’re a Fall, so I think you’ll be okay, and he kisses like he’s been programmed with every porn site there is.” 

Riley gives Sam the side eye. 

“Or so they say,” Sam clarifies.

* * *

There are candles burning in Sam and Riley’s living room and kitchen, which give it a somewhat romantic ambience, and also serves to dissipate the smell of whatever Sam’s cooking. Bucky’s slumped in the middle of the loveseat, damn near pouting. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he says again.

From the kitchen, Sam replies, “I know you don’t. But you’ve been a total sad asshole for weeks. This can’t be worse.”

“Holy shit, that’s a low bar.”

“Just try.”

The doorbell rings and Riley goes to answer it. When he returns, he’s preceded by a very tall, very maroon man wearing a gray crewneck sweater and crisp jeans. 

The man is attractive, and he has an English accent that Bucky knows he should find sexy. Bucky’s put off, though, by the fact that the voice is saying, “…is a very sturdy building. Given its location, this apartment would be worth approximately six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I should think. How many bedrooms?”

Riley’s face is carefully neutral as he follows Vision back into the living room. Bucky stands, but Vision continues. “I did notice that your front windows need replacement, however. It is foolish not to protect your investment carefully. I do recognize, of course, that your disability pension combined with Sam’s government salary do not stretch so far as top-of-the-line millwork, but you should be able to afford something acceptable.”

“Vision, let me introduce you to Bucky,” Riley interjects the second there’s a pause between syllables.

“Ah, Bucky,” Vision smiles and extends his hand. “Sam has told me a great deal about you.”

While Bucky does his best to utter a polite greeting, Vision tilts his head to various angles, studying him closely.

“Well, Bucky, I can only deduce that your lack of sexual experience is due to poor social skills. Because your facial structure and your physiognomy are within the 90th percentile of the North American and European ideal.”

“I, uh… Thanks?”

“There is no need to be uncomfortable. I have a great deal of sexual experience and I can help you if I find that we are compatible. I will provide you with my decision by the end of the evening.”

Bucky’s decision, of course, is already made. And he still has to eat Sam’s cooking.

* * * 

The following week, Bucky reluctantly agrees to dinner at Tony’s restaurant with a friend of Tony’s named Peter. The only reason Bucky doesn’t turn around and walk right back out the moment he sees the kid is that Natasha and Clint have purposely come in behind him so that they can bar the door.

“He’s a child!” Bucky hisses. If Marlene from the cupcake shop is too young, Peter Parker borders on illegal. Natasha and Clint insist and, in the end, as unable to quit as ever, Bucky soldiers on toward the table.

For the next two hours, Bucky is positively assaulted by the pubescent tones of his date’s running commentary.

“It’s so cool that Mr. Stark has robot waiters. He let me go in the kitchen and watch the food prep process. It’s why all the food here is the same every time, you know, because the process is always identical. And there’s no chance of a dirty dish or anything, because of all the sensors. Don’t you think this place is amazing, Bucky?”

“Amazing,” Bucky drones.

“Yeah, and you know Mr. Stark got me an internship at Stark Industries, and I’m working with the  _ best  _ scientists right now! I tried to get the college to give me credits for my work at S.I., you know, because it’s not like I don’t already know Trig and O. Chem, but…”

Bucky doesn’t speak to Tony Stark for the next two weeks.

* * *

Bucky is so sour and disillusioned after that, Sam waits almost a month to suggest that Bucky have dinner at his and Riley’s house so that he can meet a man they both swear is perfect. They describe him as a prince, but they don’t tell Bucky they mean it literally, because… Well, because Thor and Loki. 

It takes another month before Bucky loses a bet with Riley and has to agree to the date. 

He’s surly and rude as he sits, arms crossed, again in the middle of Sam and Riley’s loveseat waiting for yet another shit show of a blind date. He hasn’t even tried very hard with his appearance, although nonchalant looks insanely good on Bucky. 

Bucky has no choice but to admit that T’Challa is extremely handsome. His smooth, richly-accented voice is so pleasant it makes anything he says sound intelligent and reasonable. Which fits, because the things he says  _ are  _ intelligent and reasonable. T’Challa’s also charming and funny. 

Dinner lasts through coffee and even nightcaps, because the evening is entirely enjoyable. Bucky’s mood is vastly improved, although he’s perhaps a bit quieter than usual. Eventually, T’Challa stands and gracefully thanks Sam and Riley for their hospitality. He pronounces the dinner “a unique experience,” causing Sam to preen and Bucky to smile.

Bucky walks T’Challa to the door. In the foyer, T’Challa looks Bucky in the eye from a foot away, and takes one of his hands. Kissing it sweetly, he says, “I have enjoyed meeting you, Bucky. I like you. I would like to see you again.”

“I’d like that, too. I don’t like princes much, as a rule, but this has been very nice.”

With the flash of an amused smile, T’Challa leans in and kisses Bucky on the cheek, lingering just long enough to make his interest known. As Bucky lets him out, he can’t help grinning a bit.

Bucky drifts back into the living room to take his place on the loveseat again. Sam and Riley watch in rapt attention, unable to tell from his bemused grin and slowed movements what the verdict is.

Finally, Sam breathes a hopeful, “So?”

“He’s perfect,” Bucky shrugs. “Absolutely perfect.” 

“And?” Riley prods.

Bucky sighs deeply, certain in this moment that he is going to remain single for the rest of his life, and too emotionally exhausted to think that’s such a bad thing. He looks over at where Sam sits at the dinner table, holding one of Riley’s hands in both of his in the way he does so often.

“I think you’ve forgotten what an unusual situation you two have. To find someone you actually love who’ll love you? The chances are miniscule. Look at me, I’m crawling up the backside of forty, and I seriously doubt I’ve ever been in love.”

Riley snorts. “I know you can find a better way to say that you’re approaching forty.”

“Are you being homophobic?”

“He’s not being homophobic,” Sam answers. “You’re being gross.”

Riley chuckles and asks Bucky, “You want to stay?”

“Yeah, why not,” Bucky shrugs. “Only thing that awaits me at home is a flexing Asgardian with an unliftable hammer.”

Sam brings Bucky a blanket and pillow, and Bucky kicks off his shoes. As he stretches out on the too-short couch, he hears Riley’s low laughter while Sam wheels him into their bedroom, doing a little wheelie that Bucky is sure he does every night, just to see Riley smile. It’s so loving and intimate that Bucky closes his eyes and flops onto his side to give them privacy. 

The next morning, Riley makes a production of complaining when Sam forgets to kiss him goodbye on his way out the door to work. Of course, even when he’s still on his first cup of coffee, Bucky can tell that Riley knows Sam hasn’t actually forgotten. Bucky’s not nearly caffeinated enough to mock them for how very cute it is. Besides, the kiss that follows is heated enough to remind Bucky of Steve, and Bucky is absolutely determined to stop thinking about him.

Maybe it’s good enough just to know what lifelong love looks like, even if he never gets to experience it himself. Maybe it’s enough just to be glad Sam and Riley have it. They certainly deserve it more than Bucky does. 

But,  _ damn _ , Bucky aches to be in love like that. 


	4. Bucky Barnes Meets The Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's in trouble. He needs a friend and a place to hide, so he turns to Bucky. Bucky hasn't forgotten what Steve's done. Of course he'll help him, because that's who Bucky is. He just needs to keep his heart out of it.
> 
> Good luck with that.
> 
> And then things get _really_ ugly.

The air is crisp and cold as Bucky makes his way down the sidewalk, being especially cautious because it’s dark, and not everyone is exacting about clearing all the ice from in front of their shops and houses. Bucky smiles to himself a little. The shop had a steady stream of pre-holiday customers today, which always makes him happy, and Bruce was in a particularly good mood for some reason. 

He nods to the guy at the newsstand on the corner — Derek, he thinks the guy’s name is — and notices that all of the tabloid and newspaper headlines seem to be nasty digs at Captain America. Although it’s been months since Bucky’s seen him, and it’s none of his business, the unfair cruelty of those headlines still makes Bucky mad on Steve’s behalf. 

Steve is still fighting to stop the attack on the world economy. There was a major battle on Wall Street yesterday, when at least a hundred stockbrokers showed themselves to be more of those robot impostors and tried to occupy the New York Stock Exchange. The famous façade of the Stock Exchange was damaged, along with a number of neighboring bank buildings and the street itself. 

The headlines are vicious, blaming Captain America for the damage and injuries. As if he hadn’t saved the lives of every single person there. As if the bad guys and the robots weren’t even involved. The morning news shows had been worse, nothing but talking heads screeching about how reckless and irresponsible Captain America is, and demanding that SHIELD be defunded. Bucky had finally snapped the TV off in disgust.

All the windows of the house are dark, which means Thor’s not home from work yet. Bucky climbs the three steps, puts his key into the deadbolt and, as always, takes a second to admire the bright red star on the gray door. As he does, he hears his name being called softly from the sidewalk.

He looks behind him and feels a surge of adrenaline shoot through him, the jolt so powerful he actually gasps softly. His mind goes blank as he finds Steve Rogers, the very man he’s just been thinking about, standing below him looking distressed, exhausted, and very unsure of his welcome. 

Steve’s wearing a ski jacket and a knit cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s hunched over, with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. His red-rimmed eyes scan up and down the street as though he’s being hunted. For a very good-looking guy, Steve looks terrible. 

Over the last few months, Bucky’s feelings about Steve have been all over the map. He managed to stay outraged for the first few days, but that eventually burned itself out, giving way to confusion, humiliation and disappointment. It hurt for a long time. In fact, it still hurts, although these days, he’s settled into a sort of bittersweet, low-level disillusionment tinged with irritation. He can’t seem to manage wishing they’d never met, but he very much wishes he had walked away at that press event in Stark Tower. At least if he had done that, he could have kept his pride — and his illusions about Steve Rogers — intact. 

But now, seeing Steve looking so troubled and vulnerable, and the pain in those blue eyes, Bucky doesn’t have the heart to tell him to shove off. 

“Can I come in?” Steve asks, his voice cracking. “Please?” 

Bucky just steps inside and holds the door open.

The tea Bucky makes is one of Bruce’s favorites. It’s imported and expensive, with a light, pleasant flavor and Steve seems to need the calming effect. It touches Bucky’s heart a little to see the way he slumps in his chair, cradling his mug as much for something to hold onto as that his hands are cold. 

“I think they did it on purpose,” Steve tells him morosely. “I think whoever’s behind this attack is trying to turn public opinion against me. Maybe hoping to cripple me by goading the government into budget cuts or some kind of heightened oversight...”

Steve looks up then, something akin to desperation edging his words. “I swear to you, Bucky, I tried to prevent any damage. But every decision I made was to save people! That has to take priority over buildings… But all over the news, the Internet, social media, everywhere, it’s nothing but anger and hate. They blame me for what happened, and it’s all so... I didn’t know where to go. The Tower and the Compound are both surrounded. There are secret entrances, but I just… I can’t be there, the way even some of the SHIELD agents are looking at me. I know it’s been months, but…”

Bucky takes a seat next to Steve at the small table in his breakfast nook. The table is vaguely industrial, something he found at Restoration Hardware, and it strikes Bucky just how right Steve looks sitting in this room. 

He places a hand briefly on Steve’s arm. Even after what happened the night of their dinner date, Bucky can’t find it in himself to hate Steve. Especially when he’s this down, and being kicked by seemingly everyone on the planet. “This is the place,” he says quietly.

“Thank you. There’s a plan to hide out in Alaska. Some of the team need medical care, so we’re leaving in a couple of days, but for now… I grew up in Brooklyn. I just wanted to come home.” He comes close to breaking down. “The entire world blames me for this whole thing. People could have died. I had to save them—” Steve’s voice falters.

“That is not on you,” Bucky assures him firmly. “You take the mission as you find it, and if the enemy manages to choose the battleground, then that’s where you fight.”

Steve turns his head to look at him, and Bucky feels himself warming at the trusting expression on his ravaged face. “It helps that you’ve been there,” Steve confesses. “You know what it’s like in a firefight. These reporters, these so-called ‘experts’, they don’t understand how quickly everything changes, how many things you have to keep track of while you’re trying to watch out for your team, all the while trying to protect your own ass…”

“I do know. And I saw the news. I know what you were up against.”

“Thanks, Buck. You don’t know what that means to me.”

Bucky kind of wishes his heart didn’t squeeze when Steve says that, and looks at him with those big, teary blue eyes.

“The only thing that matters is that you won, Steve. You kept much, much worse from happening. We’ll figure the rest out. Now what would you like? I suggest that we send out for enormous amounts of baked goods.” 

Steve’s grin is weak, but it’s there. “That would be great.”

They fumble through the next hour, while they wait for the bakery delivery. It’s not as tense and awkward as Bucky would have expected. There are a few uncomfortable silences, but mostly Bucky encourages Steve to unburden himself about what he’s been going through with the press. Steve came to him because he needed a safe refuge and a friend, and Bucky’s going to be that. He just keeps reminding himself to keep his heart out of it.

They’re making good progress through a huge box of Italian pastries when they hear Thor bash his way through the door. Before he closes it, Bucky calls, “Did you ground?”

There’s a hearty oath and more heavy footfalls, then a sizzling and snapping accompanied by an electrical whine. The smell of ozone drifts into the breakfast nook just as Thor stomps into the kitchen.

When he sees Steve, Thor stands – huge, blond, and handsome – gaping at him with a comical expression of surprise. “My friend!” he shouts, although both Steve and Bucky are less than five feet away from him. “Your resemblance to Captain America is uncanny! That’s your bad fortune right now, I’m afraid, because that poor man is reviled worldwide. Truly, the people’s lust for his blood is quite –“

“Thor,” Bucky interrupts. “Let me introduce you to Steve Rogers.”

“And your name is even the same! Oh, you poor fellow, you—” 

And then it hits him. 

“Oh. Well, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Thor says, shaking Steve’s offered hand and smiling cheerfully. “Terribly sorry about all the carnage. I’m sure it couldn’t be helped.”

“Yeah, I—” Steve’s blushing and begins to try to stammer a response, but Thor cuts him off as another thought occurs to him.

“But wait! Are you not the one who was dating my brother?”

Steve’s blush goes nuclear. “Well, it’s complicated.”

“Yes, that is always the case with Loki,” Thor says sadly, shaking his head. “Are you dating him still?”

“No.” Steve is looking at Bucky when he answers with finality. 

Thor nods sagely, as though that’s nothing but what he expected, then excuses himself to go upstairs. Soon Bucky and Steve hear the sound of the shower running and Thor singing energetically. Sharing a quiet laugh, they settle back into their conversation.

“Listen, Bucky, I’d understand if you don’t want to hear it, but I’m very sorry about last time. What happened with Loki.” Steve sounds sincere, and his expression is earnest as he looks imploringly into Bucky’s eyes. “I can only imagine how awful that was for you and I’m just… really ashamed. I truly apologize, I mean it. Loki just materialized. I had no idea. In fact, I had no idea that he was ever gonna ‘materialize’ again.”

Bucky reminds himself exactly  _ what _ Steve is apologizing for. It doesn’t matter whether he’s no longer seeing Loki. It’s irrelevant how handsome or contrite he is at this moment. Steve is a guy who would do  _ that  _ to him. Bucky takes a moment to think about what he wants to say before responding. Because no matter how Steve has treated him, Bucky is going to be up front with Steve.

“I admit, I was really confused. We’d just had this great evening together and I knew I wasn’t misreading you. You were  _ kissing _ me. So to find out that you had a boyfriend…”

“I know, and-—“

“And it wasn’t just some guy. Loki is my roommate’s brother. I told you that I lived with Thor and you said nothing. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that from you.”

“I’m so sorry, Buck. It was just, I thought Loki and I were probably through, and with you and Thor being roommates, I just didn’t want to get into all that. And then, you were so— I was having such a nice evening with you, Bucky. I didn’t want to spoil it with a complication that might not even be one. Honestly? I just didn’t want the idea of Loki getting between us.”

“I deserved to know.”

“Yes. You did. What I did was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Bucky needs to change the subject, because Steve looks genuinely sorry, and all Bucky’s wanted since that night is a reasonable explanation that lets him believe in Steve again. But the excuses Steve’s making aren’t good enough, and Bucky knows it. He’s getting dangerously close to forgiving the unforgivable here, because it’s so hard to keep his head when he’s around Steve. And Bucky’s not going to make the same mistake he made at the press event at Stark Tower. So he shrugs with fake nonchalance and says, “Well, I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to recommend falafel places to a god, so...”

Steve laughs weakly.

“I gotta say,” Bucky observes. “I don’t see you two together.”

“Neither do I, believe me. It was— I mean, he was sort of imperious about the whole thing. He basically just announced that we were dating, and I was lonely, so... I hate to say it, but from my end, I mostly just went along with it because it was easy. He was right there, and at least he wouldn’t be freaked out by the Captain America thing.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, blushing a little and shaking his head unhappily. “That doesn’t say anything good about me, I know.”

He looks up with a weak smile. “So, how’s your love life?”

Bucky’s not fooled by Steve’s pretended switch to lightheartedness, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about Loki any more, so he plays along. 

“Well, Thor and I are working on it, you know how it is. We’re in couples therapy, trying to figure out some strategies to deal with his compulsion to conduct electricity with his body. Because Con Ed and I are getting really tired of Thor’s bullshit.”

Steve laughs, and it gives Bucky a nice glow to see that he’s been able to lighten his mood a little.

“I have thought about you,” Steve admits, with a little heat behind it. Bucky sees him start to put out a hand, maybe to touch Bucky’s, but he stops himself. “I really enjoyed our dates. I like you a lot, Buck, it’s just that my life tends to be a lot for a normal person to deal with. Thor isn’t the only one who comes with a whole wagonload of bullshit.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just acknowledges the comment and gets up from the table to start making dinner. It works. They move on to easier topics, spending a pleasant hour while Steve helps Bucky, just talking casually about the things they’ve been doing since they last saw each other. When dinner’s ready, Thor comes down and serves as a welcome buffer between them, just being his boisterous and entertaining self. After they’ve eaten, Steve suggests that they watch the most mindless movies they can find, which seems exactly right for the situation.

In between movies, Bucky calls Bruce to tell him he’s taking the next day off from the shop. He even tells him why. But Bucky doesn’t examine his motives, and Bruce doesn’t ask. 

Bucky insists that Steve take his bedroom to sleep in. 

“Bucky, no, I can’t do that. I’m an uninvited guest, I’m not putting you out of your bed, too.”

“You know what, Rogers? Just shut the fuck up and go to bed. It’s my house. I can sleep where I want.”

Steve smiles fondly, and Bucky notices that the tension lines around his eyes have softened just a bit. Something about that feels very good. 

“Thank you again. Really. I had no right to expect you to ever speak to me again, let alone allow me to stay.”

“Glad I could help. Can’t say I enjoyed meeting your boyfriend, but nobody deserves what the press is doing to you. Sleep well.”

“G’night, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t know it, but Steve tosses and turns just as much as he does throughout the night. 

* * *

Despite the cataclysmic uproar that is Thor getting ready for work, Steve and Bucky both sleep late. Bucky had taken a long time to get to sleep, thinking about all that Steve had said. If he’s honest with himself, he was also bothered by the temptation of Steve, lying in bed just up the stairs. But as the morning goes on, Bucky eventually reaches the limit of what his back will tolerate from the lumpy couch cushions and shuffles blearily into the kitchen to make coffee. He’s sitting, head in hands, over his first cup when he hears Steve come in. 

“Good morning,” Steve says, seeing the mug left out for him in front of the coffee maker.

“If you’re cheerful in the morning, I should warn you that I have a lot of firearms,” Bucky croaks, his voice monotone and gravelly, since it’s the first thing he’s said today.

He doesn’t look up at Steve. He’s grateful that, mercifully, Steve simply makes himself a cup of coffee and comes to sit at the table without trying to start a conversation. Better still, when Bucky finishes his first cup, Steve silently takes his mug and refills it, setting the fresh, steaming cup in front of him without a word.

Steve doesn’t sit back down, though. Bucky hears him open the refrigerator, then open and close some cupboard doors. By the time Bucky’s halfway through his second cup and approaching human, the delightful smell of toast is wafting through the room and Steve’s stirring something in a pan. 

“My roommate boiled eggs this morning by sticking his finger into the water, and now Captain America is making me breakfast. I have a weird life,” Bucky comments thoughtfully.

“I would take you out for breakfast, but unless you’re a fan of unruly mobs, you definitely do not want to be seen with me right now.”

“Yeah, I don’t really do unruly mobs before noon.”

It turns out that Steve makes a very good omelet, and by the time breakfast is over, Bucky’s caffeine has kicked in. He’s laughing at Steve’s description of small children asking whether Captain America thinks lima beans are gross at the same event where their single mothers are getting handsy during the photo ops. Steve’s complaints about mad scientists always wanting to strap him to things are so funny Bucky struggles to breathe, and his attempt to describe the smell of the creatures that infested the Pentagon have Bucky begging him to stop because his stomach hurts from laughing. 

There’s no pressure, no expectation. The morning just passes in companionable conversation.

Eventually, Bucky sighs. “Well, I think it’s about time we change out of pajamas. Not that it isn’t an honor to lend Captain America my Tweety Bird pants.”

“Which you haven’t complimented me on pairing with your Ozzy Osbourne T-shirt, by the way. I’m not afraid to make bold fashion choices.”

“I see that,” Bucky laughs. “So, this is the time I normally go running on my days off, and then to the gym. I don’t know if you’d be interested in doing either of those things with a mere mortal, but I-”

“Yes.”

They smile at each other. 

“I’ll need a disguise.”

“Leave it to me.”

Steve is standing outside Bucky’s closet door, listening to Bucky’s muffled voice as he searches for something.

“Yes!” Bucky finally exclaims, and jumps down from the stepstool he’d been on, looking in the back of a shelf.

“Bucky. I cannot run in a rubber Obama mask.”

“Sure you can. And nobody will ever know it’s you.”

“I won’t be able to breathe.”

Bucky plucks the mask from Steve’s fingers. “Fuckin’ whiner. I expected more from Captain America.”

He frowns, thinking, for a moment, then snaps his fingers and says, “Be right back.”

When he returns, Bucky’s holding a paper grocery bag with two eye holes cut in it. 

“No,” Steve says.

“You’ll be able to breathe.”

“No.”

Bucky pulls a Phantom of the Opera half-mask from the back waistband of his sweatpants. Steve cocks his head and reaches for it. He puts it on, then looks at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of Bucky’s closet door. 

“I don’t know. Still looks like me. And I think the whole ‘guy wearing a mask’ thing might draw even more attention to me?”

Bucky shrugs and sits down on the side of his bed. “Well, I don’t hear you havin’ any brilliant ideas.”

“Maybe you should just go without me. I’ll stay here, if it’s okay with you, and I’ll just listen to music or something.”

At the word “music,” Bucky gets a gleeful light in his eyes and shoots out the door of his bedroom and down the stairs. Steve can hear banging and shuffling, and thinks Bucky’s in Thor’s room but has no idea what he’s doing. After five minutes, Bucky returns with a shaggy Beatles mop-top wig and a terry-cloth runner’s headband.

Steve reluctantly puts them on, and checks his reflection in the mirror. He looks ridiculous, but he definitely doesn’t look like Captain America.

“I’m a genius,” Bucky says. “Let’s go.”

They run to Prospect Park and do the full inner loop. They take it at a fairly easy pace, which means that they can talk while they run. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about those news stories. It seems to me like you’re lettin’ them tell you who you are,” Bucky tells Steve.

“How so?”

“They’re complaining about damage to the Stock Exchange, but you said that happened because one of those robot dudes self-destructed trying to blow a hole in the building so they could get in, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So how come I haven’t read that, or seen it on TV? All I’ve seen is the hole, not how it got there.”

“Yeah…”

“And at the time, you were keeping a bunch of them busy so SHIELD could evac that bank, right?”

“Right. You think they care about that?”

“I don’t think they  _ know _ about that.”

“You don’t know the media, Buck. They don’t wanna hear excuses.”

“Not excuses. Information. You tell ‘em what happened. Sure, you regret the damage. But let them know the whole story. I see you up there, you’re always playin’ a part, giving them the cardboard version of Captain America. Try giving ‘em Steve.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe. I like Steve.” 

Bucky sneaks a look at Steve, who is looking back, and grinning. 

Bucky’s gym is not one of the sparkly, carrot-juice-and-wheatgrass meat markets filled with spandex and hipsters. Bucky’s gym is a gritty, bare-bones cinderblock building. It has the usual weights, resistance machines, and other equipment you’d expect. But it also has a couple of boxing rings and a large area with a padded floor and walls. 

When Bucky and Steve go in, there are some guys doing mixed martial arts sparring in one of the boxing rings, and a few others lifting weights. One guy’s jumping rope, the rope flying so fast it’s almost invisible. Several people call hellos to Bucky and give his friend with the weird hair a nod of greeting, too. 

For a while, they lift weights, Steve keeping his weight to what a normal man might use. He makes up for it by doing more reps, which is far less noticeable. It’s still a workout, if only a fraction of what he’s capable of doing. 

The wig is miserable, though. It was one thing when they were running. Since it’s cold outside, Steve didn’t mind the warmth of the wig and sweatband even though, with his metabolism, he didn’t need it. He did mind Bucky’s frequent taunts about it, but not nearly as much as he’d pretended to.

Here in the gym, though, it’s way too hot. It’s itchy and becoming more irritating the longer they work out. Though he only complains about it once, Bucky can see it’s bothering Steve. When he sees Steve grimace and mess with it yet again, Bucky notices that there are now only two other guys in the gym besides himself, Steve, and the owner. Because it’s mid-day, that’s not surprising, and not likely to change for a couple of hours.

Bucky calls over to the owner, a former heavyweight boxer who still looks like he could deliver a devastating punch. “Bucky, man, who’s your friend?” the guy asks as he approaches.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Frank. I could kind of use a favor here, if you’d be willing.”

Frank looks intrigued, but wary.

“Those other guys over there, do you know them? Are they all right?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah, I know ‘em. Good guys, both of ‘em. What’s up?”

“Well, the thing is, this is Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, indicating Steve. “ _ That _ Steve Rogers.”

“No shit!” Frank says, with a smile. Steve offers a hand, which Frank shakes with a poorly-concealed look at Steve’s hair.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “We wanted to get a workout in, but he’s not exactly the toast of the town right now.”

“That thing’s not even real hair,” Frank laughs.

“No, it isn’t, and it’s hot and itchy,” Steve agrees.

Bucky continues, “So, Frank, I was wondering whether you’d be willing to lock the door for an hour or so, just so he can take that piece of crap off his head.”

“Hell, yeah,” Frank cries enthusiastically. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“I never could get Bucky into our MMA league,” Frank tells Steve. “Says he did enough fighting in the service and ain’t lookin’ to do it for fun. But he’s good. Real good. Wonderin’ if you might wanna do a little sparring together. I always wanted to see what he could really do, and I figure bein’ Captain America and all, he ain’t likely to hurt you.”

Steve’s smile is radiant as he looks from Frank to Bucky. “You know, Frank, that is a hell of an idea. Whadda ya say, Buck? Wanna let me humiliate you in the ring?”

“Oh, you are  _ so  _ on,” Bucky grins. 

Once the gym’s closed and Steve’s taken off the horrible Halloween wig, they eagerly enter the ring. Frank makes them wear safety equipment, which to both Steve and Bucky simply means they can go at it harder. And they do. 

Bucky quickly learns that Steve’s all strength and reflexes, whereas Bucky’s got the moves and speed. It makes for a pretty fair fight. Bucky’s metal arm is as strong as either of Steve’s. He’s exquisitely trained and every bit as battle-tested as Steve is, if in more traditional fights. Steve tells Bucky within the first fifteen minutes that he doesn’t think any of the SHIELD agents could beat him. 

Within the first half hour, even though Bucky had tried to hide it, Steve knows. He darts a glance at Frank, then looks back at Bucky, his expression suspicious. “Are you— Did Hydra—”

“I don’t talk about that,” Bucky grunts, which is all the answer Steve needs. He can’t deny being enhanced when Steve can see and feel it in his unnatural speed and strength. It would be an insult to try.

Steve looks at Frank again.

“Don’t worry,” Frank shrugs. “I know about the serum Hydra gave him. He finally told me when I kept pesterin’ him to join our MMA league. It’s how he knew I would lock the doors for you. I do it for him, too, so he can get a real workout when he wants to.”

“I never heard about that. Does the government know?” Steve asks excitedly, then shakes his head at his own question. “Of course they know. Sorry, that was stupid. You should think about signing on with SHIELD! You could—”

Bucky sets his face in a cold, hard stare that stops Steve from going any further. Bucky made it clear during their dinner date that he’s not interested in fighting for a living anymore. To his credit, Steve drops it instantly and squares off again.

“Well, then,” Steve grins, “Let’s see what you can really do.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about Steve knowing he’s enhanced. He’s going to have to do some thinking about that. He’s only ever told a handful of people. To Bucky, the serum is an ongoing violation of his body, and he’s had to work hard to learn to live with that. Incredible abilities or not, he didn’t choose it, and he’d get rid of it in a heartbeat if he could. 

Still, Steve’s reaction is a welcome surprise. Although Steve hadn’t expected the news, he certainly doesn’t seem troubled by it. On the contrary, he’s acting like Christmas came early. Which, as Bucky considers it, makes sense. There aren’t many people who can give Steve a real sparring match. Bucky knows that frustration. That thought causes a slow, wicked smile to cross his face. Steve’s eyes dance as he smiles back.

Frank delightedly referees for the next half hour, but he really doesn’t do much more than watch them as they spar, this time both displaying their full abilities. Sometimes the moves are too fast for him to see, anyway. There’s a balletic grace to the way Steve and Bucky move around the ring, and a fierce joy to their fighting. The first time Steve gets Bucky down to the mat, Bucky’s actually laughing as he cusses Steve out and escapes. Steve’s strength doesn’t help him keep Bucky pinned, because Bucky knows countermoves to every hold Steve tries.

As they fight, it becomes obvious that, when using all their strength and speed, they’re quite well-matched. The looks Steve’s giving Bucky tell him, more than his words, that he isn’t just humoring him. And Bucky, himself, hopes never to have to fight Steve for real. With Frank there to make sure they don’t accidentally destroy his gym, they spend an extraordinarily enjoyable half-hour sparring.

There’s only one problem with all the grappling and holding and pinning they’ve been doing. It’s been pretty much full-contact and they’re both flushed and sweaty, which has left Bucky panting for reasons that have nothing to do with physical exertion. He’s grateful Frank’s been there refereeing, so that he didn’t toss Steve to the mat and… well. But it’s definitely on his mind. Because Steve looks ridiculously good glowing with exertion and sweat, and he keeps smiling at Bucky like that. When they get back to the house, Bucky’s going to be taking a very long, very cold shower.

* * *

It’s another quiet evening, more comfortable than the previous night. With Thor there to chaperone, Bucky’s not tempted by Steve in the way he might be if they were alone. He’s glad about that, because although his mind knows that he’s not going to let himself be vulnerable to Steve again, his heart and his body clearly didn’t get that memo. 

He keeps catching himself staring at Steve. His dark blond hair, his ridiculous shoulders and chest, those blue eyes that seem to be fascinated with Bucky... Every time he does, he melts a little more. Steve’s interesting and funny and sexy, and they discover more in common all the time. Bucky harshly reminds himself that he has no intention of putting himself in a position to be hurt by Steve for a third time. Even the fact that he has to  _ think _ about that says it all. As attracted as he is to Steve, as much as he likes Steve and enjoys his company, Steve is not boyfriend material. Bucky just needs to keep that in mind.

When everyone decides to go to bed, Bucky walks upstairs with Steve to get some shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in. He’s a little uncomfortable, but not surprised, when Steve stands at the door of his room so that Bucky has to pass him to go downstairs. 

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into letting me take the couch?”

“Let’s not have this conversation again tonight. Look at you. Maybe your pre-serum body could fit on a couch, but not this one.” Bucky wishes he could’ve kept that note of sensual appreciation out of his voice.

“Yours is hardly couch-sized, either,” Steve notes, giving him a frankly admiring look. “I mean, look at these shoulders...”

Steve reaches a hand toward him. Bucky sees and turns to the side before it can make contact, trying to make it look like he’s simply starting toward the stairs. Cowardly, maybe, but after staring at him all evening, Bucky is just not up to the challenge of resisting Steve if he’s about to try to seduce him.

“G’night. See you in the morning.”

Bucky’s about to take the first step away from him when Steve says softly, “Today’s been a good day which, in the circumstances, I wouldn’t have imagined possible. Thank you.”

He leans forward, not moving his body closer, and kisses Bucky softly on the cheek. “Sleep well.”

_ Dammit. Playing the sympathy card and being a gentleman in the same move. This guy’s good. _ Bucky smiles sadly to himself on the way down the stairs.  _ If only. _

The couch is narrow and lumpy. The streetlight outside shines right into his eyes. Everyone who walks by on the street seems to be yelling to whomever they’re walking with. And Bucky keeps replaying the way Steve looked at him as they were saying good night. If he walks upstairs right now, there is no question that Steve will let him in.  _ God help him. _ Right this minute, if he wants to have sex with Steve Rogers, all he has to do is walk up a couple flights of stairs.

Bucky flips over and stuffs his face into the couch cushion, groaning. He tries to remember what he felt like when he realized Steve had invited him to Stark Tower the first time only because he regretted their kiss. And then tried to kiss him again. And then refused Bucky’s clumsy attempt to ask him out. And then called him back to change his mind and invite himself to Natasha’s birthday party. The dizzying highs and lows, ecstasy and misery hitting him like a strobe. Savoring an absolutely perfect dinner date – easily the best date he’d ever had – and then walking into Steve’s apartment to find that Steve has a boyfriend (who, by the way, turned out to be even more of a dick than legend had led Bucky to expect).

Those memories should keep him safe. But Bucky’s traitorous mind keeps skipping to the magical, dream-like hour they spent in the English garden after their first date, and the way Steve had kissed him there. It replays the way Steve looked, sitting across the table at the restaurant. It reminds Bucky how he’d felt as they talked about military history — Bucky’s passion — and he discovered just how knowledgeable Steve is on the subject, and how interested he is in it. He groans again into the cushion.

And then he sits up and swings his legs off the couch.  _ All he has to do is go upstairs… _

Sighing deeply, Bucky shakes his head and lays back down.  _ No.  _ Steve Rogers cannot be trusted. Yes, he’s all the good things Bucky’s been thinking about. But he’s also stomped on Bucky’s emotions  _ twice  _ now. Bucky throws the blanket back over his legs and sighs out a string of curses.

The sound of footfalls on the stairs interrupts his thoughts.  _ Oh, shit. _ Steve. Bucky’s heart begins hammering in his chest. How’s he supposed to resist? Does he even want to? Maybe he could… No, he can’t—

“Friend Bucky?” comes Thor’s window-rattling whisper.

Bucky pulls his pillow over his face and screams into it for a few seconds before answering.

“Yeah?”

“I do not want to interfere in your romantic endeavors. But I was thinking.” Thor is enormous in the dim living room, all wide chest and bare, tree-trunk arms and sleep-wild hair.

“What is it?”

“Has your friend not just broken off with my brother?”

“Yeah.”

“And he is here in your house…”

“Yes.”

“And you get on very well.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, would you not say that this is an excellent opportunity for lovemaking?”

Bucky throws his hands up in what he hopes is genuine disapproval. “For fuck’s sake, he’s in trouble. Get a grip.”

“You do not think the moment ripe.” Thor steps back, nodding sagely. “Understood.” 

He turns to leave, then turns back to face Bucky again. “He does seem upset. Perhaps I should make love to him instead?”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“You do not think he would benefit from—”

“Don’t even think about it! Go to bed, you idiot.”

“Logic would suggest that I may not be the idiot in this scenario. But very well.”

Thor returns upstairs. He’s trying to be quiet but the house still shakes and Bucky thinks he sees some more cracks form in the plaster of the wall. He mutters to himself as he tries to find a comfortable position on the damn couch, but at least he’s able to distract his mind from thinking about Steve lying shirtless in his bed by counting all the ways Thor drives him crazy. 

Half an hour later, Bucky again hears a large man creeping down the stairs trying to be quiet. From under his pillow, he hisses, “Fuck off!”

“OK.” 

Bucky knows instantly it’s Steve (not least because the whisper is actually quiet). He springs to a sitting position on the couch. “No! No, I thought you were Thor! I didn’t mean you. I’m glad to see  _ you _ .”

Steve stands still, just looking at Bucky with desire he can see even in the dark. 

“Do you need something?” Bucky asks huskily, getting up from the couch and taking a step, then two, toward Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve answers softly, and holds out his hand.

Time slows, or else Bucky really does take forever to swallow hard and lift his hand to take Steve’s. Steve’s hand is warm, almost hot. He pulls Bucky gently toward him — a mere suggestion, not a demand — looking fully into Bucky’s eyes as Bucky allows himself to be pulled into his arms. When they’re chest to chest, with only Bucky’s thin T-shirt between them, Bucky is powerless to look away from Steve’s eyes. 

Steve lifts a hand and smooths it, whisper-soft, over Bucky’s hair as he tips his head, bringing his lips close to Bucky’s. “I want…”

“Me, too,” Bucky breathes, and then Steve’s mouth is on his, lips firm and warm.

Bucky is the one who presses closer, kissing Steve more deeply, winding his fingers into Steve’s hair and fisting it just tightly enough that Steve can’t move away. He’s on autopilot, wanting this too much to resist, body set alight by the way Steve is holding him, the sleepy-sexy smell of Steve’s skin. Steve’s the one who first licks into Bucky’s mouth, but Bucky opens to him immediately with a quiet moan. And Bucky doesn’t object when Steve slides his hands under his shirt to caress bare skin. He only hesitates when Steve moves to take it off.

“My arm. There are a lot of scars,” he whispers.

“I want to see all of you, but it’s your choice.”

Bucky flashes briefly back to Steve’s reaction to learning that he’s enhanced, and the choice is made. He helps Steve pull his shirt over his head. As Steve drops it to the floor, kissing him again, Bucky murmurs a breathless, “Wow.”

“What?” Steve asks, running a hand down Bucky’s chest, electrifying every nerve it touches.

“It’s just… you.”

Steve pulls Bucky fully to him with one of his massive arms while he uses the other hand to touch Bucky’s face. The touch is so tender, and Steve’s looking at him with such adoration that it takes Bucky a second to notice that they can feel every inch of one another. Steve’s just as hard as Bucky is, and apparently great at multitasking, because he’s moving against Bucky, using his hand to press them together, at the same time he’s running a finger lightly — maddeningly lightly — across Bucky’s lips.

As he caresses Bucky’s face with a reverential sweetness, Steve’s again looking deep into his eyes, holding him helplessly captive, expressing a profound need and promising him everything without a word. Steve doesn’t release Bucky from that mesmerizing gaze until minutes later, when he brushes his lips across Bucky’s, takes his hand, and leads him upstairs. 

Bucky follows eagerly. He doesn’t care what happens after this. He can’t. Everything he’s ever wanted in a man is right in front of him, offering himself to Bucky. Tonight, he’s going to live all his fantasies about Captain America — no, about Steve Rogers — who fits perfectly against him and makes him feel things he’s never felt before. Tomorrow will just have to take care of itself.

* * *

Bucky’s cheeks actually hurt from smiling. He’s laying in his bed, with Steve’s arm over his chest, literally grinning at the ceiling. At least, when he’s not feasting his eyes on Steve, unable to get his fill of all that golden skin, those perfectly sculpted lines. He does it without moving, though, careful not to break the spell. Steve’s light snore is enchanting. His breath on Bucky’s shoulder keeps Bucky just on the edge of goosebumps. Bucky is sore in all the right places and the soul-deep satisfaction he feels is so complete he thinks he might be glowing. He wants to stay in this moment forever. 

Eventually, inevitably, Steve stirs. He gives an adorable, phlegmy snort as he awakens, so that when he looks up, he sees Bucky grinning at him, chuckling softly. Steve’s hair is deliciously mussed, unruly tufts sticking in several directions. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Steve grumbles groggily with a crooked smile. “No one is that gorgeous in the morning.”

“You are.”

“Trust me, pal, you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. You’re breathtaking right now. I kind of hate you.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because I was about to kiss you.”

“Yeah? Does that mean you’re not having any regrets?”

“Well, one.”

Steve’s face falls comedically, so Bucky quickly explains. “Pretty sure you’ve ruined me for any other man. Ever.”

Bucky’s surprised when Steve doesn’t smile, but in fact frowns a little. “Well, the prevailing opinion seems to be that I ruin everything.”

It changes the mood, and reminds Bucky of the reason Steve’s here in his house. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Bucky offers gently.

Steve starts slowly, but as he continues talking about the horrible stories about him that seem to be everywhere, he becomes more agitated and angry. He squirms with restless energy, changing position frequently, until at last he’s laying with his head at the foot of the bed. Bucky stays leaning against the headboard, his legs tangled with Steve’s in the midst of the hopelessly muddled bedding. For at least half an hour, they discuss the painful beating Steve’s been taking at the hands of public opinion.

“One of the more savory tweets said I was more of a menace to humanity than Hydra. There was a hashtag, #ShieldUsFromCap.”

“You’re memorizing that shit? C’mon, Steve, why let it take up space in your head?” Bucky nudges Steve’s leg to make Steve look at him. “Those people don’t know the first thing about who you are or what you do for them. Random losers throwing rocks from behind their keyboards. You and I both know if they caught the first glimpse of  _ any _ of the things you face, they’d be shittin’ their drawers and cryin’ for their mamas.” 

Steve seems a little taken aback by that, like it surprises him that Bucky knows exactly what he needs to hear. A slow smile dawns on his face. Tilting his head flirtatiously, he asks, “Can I stay a bit longer?”

Bucky smiles back. “Stay forever.”

“Okay.” 

Once again, Steve’s captured Bucky’s gaze as they share a sappy grin. Bucky watches with amazement as Steve’s eyes darken with the same desire that’s suddenly washing over him, too. Steve rolls over and begins crawling toward Bucky, sliding out from between the tangled sheets with a hungry leer. Bucky catches him up in his arms and begins rolling them over.

The doorbell peals, causing them both to jump a little.

“Is that food?” Steve cries excitedly. “Excellent, I’m starving!”

He extricates himself from Bucky’s arms and jumps to his feet, with Bucky right behind him. He didn’t order anything, but maybe Thor did. They immediately begin to race for the door, laughing, each wrestling to keep the other from being the one who reaches it first. They crash together into the landing between flights of stairs, and Steve takes the opportunity to hold Bucky against the wall and kiss him, before Bucky slips away again. Steve is after him, grabbing at him as they fly down the last flight of stairs, and manages to catch him around the waist and swing him out of the way. He reaches behind Bucky for the doorknob, keeping Bucky there, chest against chest, as he yanks open the door. 

Panting, laughing, arms around each other, they’re instantly assaulted by a wall of chaotic noise and painfully bright light, scintillating and flashing as a hundred television and still cameras click and whir. A cacophony of voices begin shouting at once, hurling questions. Microphones, cell phones, and digital recorders are thrust into their faces from every direction. For an interminable, shocked moment, Steve and Bucky blink stupidly, their minds struggling to catch up as they stand, half-smiles frozen on their lips, naked but for Bucky’s shorts and Steve’s boxer briefs. 

Finally, Steve pulls himself together enough to shove Bucky out of the way and slam the door.

It’s as if Bucky has suddenly gone invisible. Steve turns from him, saying nothing as he stalks into the kitchen where his cell phone sits next to Bucky’s on the table. He grabs it and punches the screen viciously a few times, then puts it to his ear.

“The press is here,” he barks into the phone. “Hundreds of them. Some tactician I turned out to be. We’re gonna need to do the thing.  _ Damn it _ !”

After a short silence, he simply pokes the screen again without saying anything more, then carries the phone with him as he runs past Bucky and up the stairs.

“Steve, wait!“ But Steve’s paying no attention. 

Thor, on his way down, meets him on the stairs and is thrown against the wall of the stairway as Steve rages past him. He pads down to stand in front of Bucky, his face full of questions. 

Bucky continues staring up the stairs after Steve, unable to latch onto a coherent thought. He’s still breathing hard, now as much from shock as from the recent headlong flight down the stairs. He shakes his head to clear it, then moves around Thor to start up the stairs. As he passes, he mutters to Thor, “Don’t go outside.”

“Why not?”

Bucky, running up the stairs now, calls over his shoulder, “Just take my word for it.”

He’s too upset and focused on salvaging his morning with Steve to hear Thor open the door. 

Steve already has his jeans on, and he’s pulling on a Henley when Bucky reaches his room. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks carefully.

“Do I look okay? What about this suggests to you that I should be okay?” Steve’s shouting and seething. He sits down on the edge of the bed and, in his fury, begins to make way too much work of pulling on socks.

Bucky tries to put a hand on his shoulder, only to have his arm ruthlessly thrown off. “I don’t know what happened,” he offers.

“Oh, I do,” Steve spits. “Your large, Shakespearian friend thought he’d make a buck or two telling the press where I was.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky objects, startled by the accusation.

“Really? The entire international press just woke up this morning and said, ‘I know where Steve Rogers is, that house with the red star on the door in Cobble Hill.’ And there we were, both of us, standing there in nothing but our damn underwear!”

Thor comes in then. “I went out in nothing but my damn underwear, too,” he announces, smiling broadly. “You should have stayed. They had many questions.”

“Thor, please,” Bucky shushes him.

Steve’s storming around the room, obviously looking for something. “I come to you to protect myself from shitty press, and now they’ve got a whole new story, this time with sex! ‘Captain America’s reaction to destruction downtown: get laid by boytoy’.” 

“If my supposition is correct,” Thor muses, “that will be ‘boytoys.’ Plural.”

Steve, outraged, shouts, “For God’s sake, I’ve got a boyfriend!”

“You do?” Bucky squeaks.

“As far as they’re concerned, I do! And now, thanks to you, there’ll be pictures of us in every paper from here to Asgard.”

Bucky steps closer, hoping to sooth Steve with a touch. “Stay calm.”

“You stay calm!” Steve explodes. “This is the perfect situation for you. Minimum input, maximum publicity. Everywhere you go people will be buying drinks for the guy who slept with Captain America!’”

Bucky, once again dismayed by Steve’s accusation, and smarting from the derisive sarcasm in his voice, says, “That is spectacularly unfair.”

Steve just continues his cruel rant. “Maybe it’ll even help business. Buy a boring book about Fort Hood from the guy that screwed Steve Rogers.”

“Steve, stop! Please! Let’s just have breakfast and talk about this.”

“I don’t want breakfast. I just want out of here.”

At that moment, the choppy thrum of a helicopter begins to be audible in the distance. Steve yanks the curtain roughly away from the window and looks out. “Thor owes you some amazing gift, by the way,” he sneers. “Just how amazing depends on the going rate for betrayal.” 

“Steve, this is insane! Can’t we just laugh about all this? Seriously, I mean, there are robot stockbrokers trying to take over the world economy. In the big scheme of things, this is nothing. Let’s have some perspective.”

Bucky sees Steve turn toward him and actually braces for whatever Steve’s about to say. Everything about the situation and Steve’s reaction tells Bucky it’s going to hurt. 

“I’ve dealt with this for five years. You’ve had it for five minutes. Our  _ perspectives _ are very different.”

The helicopter noise gets much louder, and a rope ladder drops down past the window, catching Steve’s eye. He turns back to open the window, sticking his head out. 

This can’t be how Steve leaves. It can’t. Not after last night, and the aching tenderness with which Steve had made love to him. Not after the things they’ve said to each other. Bucky grasps for anything he can think of to make Steve stay. “But it’s just one day! Tomorrow, Kanye will do something batshit crazy and no one will remember any of this!”

Steve turns back to him. “You really don’t get it. Every time anything I do makes the news, they’ll dig up these photos. Scandals last forever.  _ I’ll regret this forever _ .”

It’s like a sucker punch. It  _ is _ a sucker punch. Bucky had been prepared to be hurt a moment before. This one, he hadn’t seen coming, and it knocks him flat. “Right,” he whispers, with what little breath is left in him.

Steve flinches. He misses a couple of beats, just standing staring at Bucky with a hint of uncertainty beginning to color his rage. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He’s very clearly still furious, but Bucky can see that he wants to say… something.

He doesn’t.

“I’ll feel the opposite, if that’s okay by you,” Bucky manages to push through his throat as it constricts. It seems even quieter and more heartbroken in comparison to the volume with which Steve’s just been yelling. “I’ll always be glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Steve gives Bucky a helpless, complicated look, but says nothing. Instead he turns, puts a foot on the windowsill, and leaps, catching the rope ladder by one hand. As soon as he does, the helicopter begins to move away while he climbs up toward someone hanging out the door, waiting to help him in. The crowd of reporters, having seen the helicopter arrive and hover briefly, are right there to record the moment. 

Bucky slams the window closed and pulls the curtains to shut them, and Steve, out.

“I am sorry, friend Bucky. This does not look good.”

Bucky keeps his back to Thor, eyes closed, trying to stop the emotional devastation from coming. He knows it’s useless. This is going to hurt like almighty hell, and for a long time. Maybe forever.

“Was it you?” he asks in a whisper.

“I was so pleased that you had found a lover!” Thor answers. “I may have mentioned it on Facebook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think. Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	5. Bucky Soldiers On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Steve has his hands full fighting bad guys and aliens, Bucky gets on with his life without Steve. He makes sure there's plenty to distract him from his broken heart. After over a year, he thinks he's finally over Steve.
> 
> Until Sam tells him Steve's back in the city and Bucky decides to stop by and say hello.
> 
> When Steve hurts him yet again, it's truly over. Even Bucky has his limits. So when Steve makes a stunning decision, Bucky just wishes him well and gets on with his new venture.

In February, Bucky launches into a full-scale inventory of the shop, which seriously challenges Bruce’s zen. Fortunately, it feeds Bruce’s need for order just enough that no one turns massive and green. Bruce isn’t fooled by Bucky’s lame reasons for wanting to inventory the thousands of books and clean every square inch of the shop but, considering all of the other things Bucky could try to drown himself in to keep his mind off his broken heart, Bruce is just fine with this one.

Steve and SHIELD finally identify the mastermind behind the plot to take over the world’s financial markets. They haven’t located him yet, but he’s a bloated blowhard with weirdly-tinged skin and a preposterous ego. How hard can it be to find a guy like that? During an on-the-spot interview, Steve sends a message to the villain, saying that he will be made to pay for all the injuries and the destruction, including the damage to the Stock Exchange building. 

Bucky can’t help feeling a momentary little thaw in his heart. He’s glad to see Steve putting the blame where it belongs. He takes a second to wish Steve well, then wipes a tear and gets back to work.

* * *

As winter gives way to spring, Bucky takes on two projects. The first is to find a literary agent and get serious about the book he’s always planned to write. The Howling Commandos of World War II have never received anywhere near the recognition they deserve. Bucky is determined to honor their legacy. Since retiring from the Army, he’s written several articles on the subject. He’s actually made a bit of a name for himself in the small universe of people that pay attention to such things. Now that the full story of their heroism, sacrifice, and achievements is no longer classified — and Bucky desperately needs the diversion — it’s time to write his book, along with all the research that will entail.

The other project is far less noble, but it’s much more distracting, and that’s what he needs. Bucky allows himself to be put in charge of the neighborhood business association’s annual block party in June. It’s thankless work, and involves far too much hand holding and making of tiny, meaningless decisions. And because Marlene from the cupcake shop volunteers to be his deputy, it also involves a fair amount of boundary-setting. 

But it helps Bucky manage to get through three months without dwelling on Steve every moment. His heart only aches for Steve when he’s alone in bed. Or during quiet times in the shop when whatever he’s reading isn’t sufficiently engaging. Or when he sees Steve in the newspaper or on television. Or when someone mentions him.

People mention Captain America often, because he manages to flush out the villain trying to ruin the world’s economy. He calls himself The Amber Rift (whatever that means). Now it’s open warfare, and Steve and SHIELD fight furiously to stop his attacks, which get bolder and more destructive with time. Captain America and SHIELD Director Nick Fury pull no punches, either in actually fighting the guy or in the press, where this Amber Rift guy doesn’t seem to be able to stop talking garbage. Slowly, the tide of public opinion starts to turn until, by June, both the media and the Internet are full of venom for The Amber Rift. Finally, the world is focusing on the real bad guy.

* * *

After the block party, Bucky’s at loose ends for a while. He’s seen T’Challa a few times, but while T’Challa is handsome and charming, there’s just no chemistry there. In the end, Bucky finds himself feeling just a touch of relief when he returns to Wakanda. 

* * *

In early September, Bucky and his friends spend their annual week on Long Island together. They always rent the same house because it’s perfect for Riley to be able to move freely, including a long, wooden boardwalk out onto a platform on the sand. Natasha and Clint take the opportunity to announce to their friends that they’re actually dating now. It’s really not much of a switch in the group’s dynamic, since Clint and Natasha have always spent most of their free time together, anyway. 

* * *

For Halloween that year, every other kid is dressed as Captain America, because Steve’s well on his way back to hero status. He’s defeated The Amber Rift and the vicious headlines seem to be a thing of the past. It’s good news, if bittersweet for Bucky. He’s resigned to never seeing Steve again, but he knows now that the stinging ache in his heart is never going away. 

He does his best to move on. His best sucks, as his friends (especially Sam) point out, but he’s trying. They help as much as they can, which is really quite a bit. They’re all very close, and it’s just Bucky’s nature to be happy with what he has. He knows how fortunate he is, even if he can’t escape the near-constant reminders of the man he can’t stop dreaming of. 

The man who doesn’t really exist. 

* * * 

The holidays come and go, and Bucky can’t help but appreciate Thor’s childlike enthusiasm for his first Christmas. Thor couldn’t have known what would happen when he inundated the house with twinkle lights and then tried to make them extra-bright by powering them with Mjölnir. It wasn’t that big a fire, considering what Thor is truly capable of, and Bucky is actually glad that the repairs to his house keep him too busy to think much about Steve. 

The neighbors in grid G-47 are less inclined to be understanding this time. Only two things save the situation from getting truly ugly. The first is the generosity inherent in the holiday season (and Bucky’s shameless appeals to it). The second is Thor’s natural charm and guilelessness. 

Being who he is, Thor has access to wealth beyond imagination, and he really is sorry for all the transformers and the hours without electricity. Again. So Thor rents a vacant retail space in the neighborhood and holds a holiday party the likes of which grid G-47 has never seen. It’s a resounding success, especially with the multitude of expensive and useful gifts he distributes to everyone. By New Years, Thor is firmly back in the neighbors’ good graces.

* * *

Bucky shakes the late-winter snow from his hair as he lets himself into his shop. The storm is windy and sloppy, as March storms tend to be, and he’s not expecting to do much business today. As usual, Bruce is already there. He has croissants and coffee waiting, for which Bucky is very grateful, given how chilled he’s gotten just in his three-block walk from home.

“Hey, boss, I actually brought you breakfast because I’m about to ask you for a favor.”

“C’mon, Bruce, you don’t have to butter me up for a favor. Just ask.”

“I want to do a meditation yoga retreat at an ashram in Bengaluru. That’s in the Panchagiri Hills of India.”

“Wow. Sounds great, pal. When do you want to go?”

“May.”

“Cool, and how long will you be gone?”

“May.”

Bucky blinks for a second, then understanding dawns. “You want the entire month of May off? Uh, wow. Okay. Maybe I can get Nat or Clint to cover for you sometimes while you’re gone.”

At that moment, Natasha comes into the shop, leading Clint by the hand. They both look like they’ve just pulled off a bank heist. “Are you talking about me? What are you saying?”

Bucky and Bruce exchange hugs with both of them, and there are smiles all around. Still, something about the looks on Natasha’s and Clint’s faces is making the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up. 

“Why do I think you’re up to something?” he asks with a suspicious squint. 

Natasha answers in a tone so smug and superior only she is able to achieve it. “Because I am clever and amazing and the best damn spy in the history of espionage.”

“Yes, please feel free to give her all the credit,” Clint deadpans. “Even though I did all the work.”

“So? What’ve you done?” Bucky asks, nervous now. He knows Natasha and Clint. Their secretive, pleased-with-themselves look is never a good sign.

“I have here something that will make you love me so much you will probably challenge Clint to a fight to the death for my hand in marriage. Even though you can’t have me and, you know, you’re mostly into dudes.”

Natasha’s holding up a small, white slip of paper that Bucky somehow knows he doesn’t want. 

“What is that?”

“ _ That _ is Steve Rogers’ new cell phone number. The one he got after all the… unpleasantness. Don’t ask me how I got it.”

“Yeah, don’t ask her, because she doesn’t  _ know _ , because it was me who got it. But nevermind all that,” Clint humphs. Then his tone becomes serious, a little sympathetic. “Listen, bud, you think about him all the time, now you can call him again.”

Bucky tries to smile. “Yeah. Great. Thanks.” 

For the next few minutes, the four friends just chat, sharing gossip and their reactions to the newest alien threat to Earth, the Ardeans. They’re not worried, because Captain America is on it. Also, because Ardeans are less than a foot tall, and so obsequious it’s hard to get a word in between their praise of humans and their apology for the need to enslave them. For such an advanced race, their weapons are strangely ineffective on humans. So the only real competition is between Earth’s toy companies, vying to rush every imaginable Ardean-themed piece of merchandise into production.

Of course, Captain America merchandise is skyrocketing in popularity, too.

“Well. Clint has a reservation at the archery range, so we have to leave,” Natasha announces.

“Since when do you go to an archery range?” Bruce asks in surprise. “I thought you just shot whatever you want, whenever you want.”

“Yeah, well, turns out the NYPD gets all pissy about lethal weapons being fired within city limits, blah, blah, blah, even though I haven’t missed since I was seventeen and we were having a really good time.”

“We were,” Natasha agrees. “I do not understand how the hell it can be a Class C felony to shoot mini-marshmallows.”

Bruce and Bucky exchange a glance, and Bucky winces. “Guess it’s my turn,” he mutters to Bruce. “Okay, why were you shooting mini-marshmallows?”

“It was fun!” Clint cries. “I was on one building downtown, Nat was on another, and she was tossing them in the air. We were on the roofs of skyscrapers, for fuck’s sake, it’s not like there was anything to hit besides maybe a sparrow. And I wasn’t even using a powerful bow!”

“Okay, Amazing Hawkeye, you don’t have to convince us,” Bruce assures him, patting him on the shoulder. “Have fun at the archery range.”

Clint’s smirk is very, very unsettling. “Oh, I will.”

“Whatever you’re gonna do, keep it to yourself,” Bucky warns him. “We need plausible deniability.” 

“I’ll check the bail fund. I don’t remember if we replenished it after last time,” Bruce adds, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Clint and Natasha say their goodbyes and are soon out the door. Once they’re gone, Bucky and Bruce don’t say a word. Bruce simply stands next to Bucky with a hand on his shoulder as Bucky crumples the small piece of paper and throws Steve’s new phone number away. 

* * *

When spring rolls around again, Bucky lets himself get roped into chairing the June block party for the second time. This year, Marlene’s dating a urologist and doesn’t act as Bucky’s assistant. Instead, Bucky is pleased to find that three of the older shopkeepers from the neighborhood business association volunteer. That is, he’s pleased until he discovers that the owner of the teashop is an utter tyrant, and the sisters who run the small hardware store detest one another. It’s an exhausting and nerve-rattling three months, but at least it keeps him from thinking about Steve. Much.

* * *

Tony announces in October that he’s made the choice to close his restaurant. When it comes down to it, Pepper folds, telling Tony that she has no right to keep him from using his own money to pursue his dream. But Tony says the decision was surprisingly easy. After all, his innate business sense won’t let him continue with a losing proposition. And the truth is, the restaurant’s served its purpose. The challenge of building and programming the robots kept Tony entertained for well over a year, followed by the excellent diversion of actually owning and running the restaurant. Tony’s now through the worst of the aftermath of his kidnapping, and he’s ready to return to his real work.

Besides, Tony’s up to something. He and Riley have been in cahoots for over a year now on some new invention of Tony’s that he says he’s not ready to talk about yet. Sam knows, but he and Riley are entirely silent on the subject. Tony will only say that it’s something that will maybe make up for some of the damage caused by Stark Industries’ weapons. With a few months’ work in his lab at the Tower, he’ll have a working prototype. He’ll show them all then. 

Despite all that, it’s a more somber group than usual that meets in the shuttered restaurant. Many of the fixtures are already packed up. They’re gathered around several tables pushed together in the center of the dining room, passing around serving dishes of pasta and other Italian delights. 

“Well,” Riley says regretfully, “We’re gonna have to find somewhere else to eat.”

Sam swallows a mouthful of focaccia. “Kinda bummed, Tony. Your food is great, and who doesn’t like a waiter you know won’t spit in your food?”

“They might not have, but maybe I did,” Tony notes. “DUM-E’s not the only one who thinks you’re a pain in the ass, Wilson.”

Bruce nods wisely. “It’s a mystery to mankind why some things work out and others don’t.” 

“Yeah,” Clint pipes in. “For example, I got fired. They said I crashed one too many experimental prototypes. Apparently, they were counting that shit.”

Everyone turns shocked eyes to Clint, but he doesn’t seem upset. A little embarrassed, maybe, but definitely not distraught. Like the rest of them, Clint’s been through some things that make a lost job minor in comparison. Besides which, Clint just doesn’t take much of anything seriously.

Riley raises his glass. “A toast to Clint, the worst test pilot in the world.”

“And to Tony,” Thor adds helpfully, “The worst restauranteur.”

“Tony and Clint, both total crap,” Riley announces solemnly, and they all repeat the toast, raise their glasses, and drink.

Natasha clears her throat, getting everyone’s attention. “Since we’re making announcements, I also have one. I’ve decided to get engaged. I found a nice, interesting man who will make me happy.”

For a moment, no one speaks. They’re all staring, dumbfounded, first at her and then at Clint. Although he’d seemed almost bored with the announcement that he’d lost his job, now he looks like he just swallowed a wasp. Finally, he gulps and chokes out, “I’m your best friend. And, more importantly, your boyfriend. I know nothing about this! I mean, who is he? Is he financially viable?”

“Well, he’s currently unemployed, but he has brilliant prospects,” she purrs at him, her molten gaze leaving no doubt who she’s referring to. 

Except, apparently, for Clint, who is now goggle-eyed and has turned a worrying shade of crimson.

“But I thought you and I were... You couldn’t have maybe told me some other ti—“

“Oh, for the love of— It’s you, you hopeless dumbass!” Natasha cries in the tone of utter vexation they’ve all heard her use with Clint a thousand times. Annoyance is simply their love language. The entire table erupts in laughter, catcalls, and heartfelt congratulations as Clint collapses in relief. Thor actually has to prod him to suggest that he accept Natasha’s proposal and kiss her.

When the hubbub dies down, which takes quite some time, Sam looks at all the faces arrayed around the table. “Anyone else have an announcement?”

Bucky lets a few beats go by and, when no one else volunteers, he speaks. “I do.” 

He looks around the table, and sees that each of his friends is wearing an expression of curiosity, but every single one is tinged with just a bit of pity. They have been for a while.  _ Yeah. Definitely enough already. _

“I want to apologize to all of you. I’ve been a mopey fuck for a year and a half, and you guys have been really patient with me, trying to cheer me up and everything. I just want to thank you, and tell you that I’ve turned a corner. From now on, I’m going to be happy. That’s it. That’s my announcement.”

Bruce reaches over from his seat next to Bucky and gives him a one-armed hug. Thor holds up a fist in solidarity while the rest nod and make small noises of support. Bucky wishes they all looked a little more convinced.

By midnight, they’re all drunk. Tony is playing sad songs on a piano so out of tune Bucky thinks it was probably put there just for decoration, while Clint and Bruce sing along. It may be the wine, but their off-key singing seems to work somehow with the sour notes coming from the piano.

Natasha and Riley are at the table leaning heavily on each other, apparently having had some sort of deep, meaningful conversation neither will remember in the morning. Bucky and Sam sit at a table against one wall, keeping their distance as Thor dances around with no regard to the rhythm of the song Tony’s playing. Thor’s dancing with Mjölnir, so Sam has a fire extinguisher next to his chair. Just in case.

Sam looks deeply into his glass of chianti as he inquires with transparently false offhandedness, “So you’re over Steve Rogers?”

“You know? I really think I am.”

“You no longer give a damn about Captain America.”

“Nope.”

“Which means you don’t give a damn about the fact that he’s back in Manhattan? He’s accepting the key to the city for his role in defeating the Ardeans and, tomorrow, he’ll be ringing the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange. You know, since all the repairs are done.”

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Bucky’s head makes a loud  _ thunk _ as he lets it fall back into the wall behind him.

“So, not over him, in fact.” Sam’s not gloating, but he makes it clear Bucky’s just confirmed what he already knew.

* * *

After 9/11, the public can’t enter the New York Stock Exchange. Which Bucky learns when he goes to the security station at the front entrance and tells the guard there that he needs to see Steve. 

“Is he expecting you?” the guard asks, squinting at him through his deeply-tinted glasses. It’s apparent in everything about the gray-haired man’s expression that he thinks Bucky’s a kook. 

“No,” Bucky admits. 

“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you through, sir.” 

Bucky’s wrestled with himself about doing this since the moment Sam told him about Steve’s appearance here today. He looks down at the guard’s name tag, which identifies him as Stan Lee. “Look, Mr., uh, Officer Lee, if you could just — “

“I can’t just. He’ll be signing autographs later. You can try to see him then.”

Bucky’s been in enough fights that he knows he’s not going to win this one. He sighs heavily, thanks the guard, and makes his way back out onto the street. A horde of families with kids wearing costumes and carrying little plastic shields jostle against the barrier in front of the Stock Exchange. Bucky’s not about to try to elbow his way into that. It’s probably for the best, anyway, after everything that’s happened and all the time he’s put into trying to forget Steve. Bucky decides he’ll just stand off to the side. Maybe he’ll catch a glimpse of Steve and it’ll ease the still-constant yearning, if only a little.

The crowd erupts when Steve comes out the front entrance, flanked by what is obviously a cadre of junior SHIELD agents acting as bodyguards. He’s in full uniform, to the delight of the kids (and some of their parents) as he waves to the crowd, smiling broadly and returning the many salutes. He begins to make his way to the barrier to sign autographs. 

As he does, Steve looks to his left, maybe just to acknowledge as much of the crowd as he can. Bucky feels a hot, piercing surge of adrenaline as Steve sees him. There’s no mistaking it. They make eye contact and suddenly Bucky has absolutely no idea what to do. He gives a lame little wave, instantly regretting the dorky move, but Steve doesn’t laugh. He suddenly looks almost grim as he walks over to Bucky, actually wringing his hands a little.

Bucky, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, tries a small smile.

“Well, this is uh…” Steve stammers. If Bucky had to put a name to it, he’d call Steve’s expression a little frightened. Which couldn’t possibly be right, but that’s sure what it looks like.

“I just found out you were back in the city.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I’ve been meaning to call.”

Nick Fury’s voice rises above the din of the crowd, calling for Steve. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I gotta go. I’m trying to win my way back into the hearts of Americans, so…”

“Absolutely,” Bucky agrees, with a heartiness that sounds so obviously fake he blushes a little. “You’re clearly very busy.”

“But if you could wait, there are things to say.”

_ Well, shit.  _ There’s that genuine-looking chagrin on Steve’s face again. The one Bucky’s fallen for too many times already. It was obviously a massive mistake to come here today. He feels Steve’s stare in every cell of his body, from his dizzy head to his sweaty palms to the feet he has to fight to keep still so he doesn’t launch himself at Steve. 

_ Holy shit _ , Bucky thinks, despair joining all the other emotions swirling through him.  _ This man is my kryptonite. Here we go again. _ “Okay,” he answers, against every instinct for self-preservation he has.

Steve’s troubled eyes remain on Bucky’s for a moment, but then Nick Fury’s voice rings out again, more insistent this time, and he turns away to sign autographs.

Bucky looks down at his shoes, a hundred muddled emotions ricocheting through him. When he can, he looks up to watch Steve smiling and posing for selfies and signing autographs for everyone he can reach over the barrier. Bucky’s so intent on him that he jumps a little when he hears Agent Hill’s voice next to him.

“Sergeant Barnes, isn’t it?” she asks. “Agent Maria Hill. I don’t know if you remember me.”

“Of course,” Bucky answers, and shakes her offered hand. 

There’s a twinkle in Agent Hill’s eyes as she says, “He’s got a press conference upstairs in fifteen minutes. I could show you where you can wait.”

“I— Can I— Is that allowed?” 

Maria Hill smiles. “If I tell them it’s okay, it’s okay. Come with me.”

Once they’re past the guard station, where Officer Lee glares disapprovingly at him as he passes, Bucky has to ask, “How did he end up getting the key to the city? And especially ringing the opening bell here? I thought, after the destruction…”

“Well, you remember how brutal the mayor was in the press about the damage to the Stock Exchange. A few weeks after it happened, he called Cap into his office and started to read him the riot act for it. Cap lost it. Laid into the mayor for half an hour about what really happened in the fight, and made him listen as he went through how each building got damaged and what Cap was doing at the time. It was pretty awesome, actually. I think even the mayor was impressed. Things got better after that. I think honoring him for the not-much-of-a-fight with the Ardeans is really about making up for things the mayor said to the press back then.”

By this time, they’ve reached a large ballroom where, apparently, a press conference will soon be taking place. Agent Hill leads Bucky to a table full of electronics on one side of the room and introduces him to the technician standing behind it. 

“Mr. Pym,” Hill greets him, “Would you set Sergeant Barnes up with some headphones, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pym replies crisply, already reaching for a pair.

“Hank will take care of you,” Hill assures Bucky. “The headphones will play the sound on the main feed. It’s sometimes hard to hear the questions and answers, with everyone yelling for attention.” 

Bucky thanks her and puts on the headphones, listening carefully as Hank Pym explains the basics of a press conference. 

Soon there’s a commotion and all the reporters crowded into the room activate their lights and cameras. Bucky sees Steve’s blond head, taller than most of the crowd, as Steve enters the ballroom in the midst of a seething pack of reporters. In his headphones, Bucky hears a gruff voice that sounds like it’s coming from very near Steve. Steve’s not answering questions yet, just making his way to the podium, so it’s more of a casual conversation. His mic just happens to be picking it up.

“So, Steve! Who was that very good-looking man you were talking to earlier?”

“Hey, Brock, nice to see you,” Steve says, his voice crisp and clear in the headphones. However friendly his words are, his tone makes it obvious that he’s far from happy to see Brock Rumlow. Bucky watches Steve try to get past the reporter. 

“C’mon, it can be off the record.”

“Do you guys at TMZ keep anything off the record, Rumlow?”

“Promise, I’ll keep it between us. I just gotta know, because that guy was seriously hot.” 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Steve says distractedly, waving at someone in the crowd of reporters and continuing to try to reach the dais.

“The one just outside, on the street,” Rumlow insists. “Brown hair, leather jacket, ass to die for?”

Steve’s cornered. “Oh, that guy,” he says offhandedly. “No one. A fan. Bit of an awkward situation, really, he’s one of those guys who have trouble drawing the line between a person’s public and private life. Thinks he knows me, like we’re friends.”

And just like that, Bucky’s destroyed.  _ Again _ . This time, he can’t even really blame Steve. Bucky’s the one who’d gone chasing after  _ him _ , as if he hadn’t known this would happen.

“Of course,” he whispers to himself. 

He brings all of his military stoicism in the face of pain to bear, actually managing a grin at Hank Pym as he hands the headphones back. His back straight, his eyes forward, he makes his way back to Brooklyn on autopilot. He doesn’t let himself truly feel the pain until he reaches the safety of his beloved house with the red star on the door. 

* * *

Bucky’s frowning as he sits in his little office in the back of the shop the next afternoon. He’s never liked paperwork. The shop has a bookkeeper, but Bucky still has to do a lot of recordkeeping. Not to mention inventory, ordering, paying bills, and all the other mundane tasks that come with owning a shop. He’s trying to understand a bill from a publishing house when Bruce comes to his office door. 

“There’s a customer here for you,” he says, and there’s something troubling about the way he says it. 

“Can’t you deal with them?” Bucky grumbles, not looking up.

“Not this one.”

“If all you want to do is sit around reading your science magazines, why the hell am I paying you so much?” Bucky snaps, regretting the words before they’re even out of his mouth.

Bruce says nothing, just looks at Bucky with more of that damn pity he thought he was done with.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Bucky sighs. “I’m a dick. I didn’t mean that. I’ll give you a raise.”

“No need. Just…”

“What?” Bucky asks, frowning even more deeply now.

“Bucky, the customer is Steve Rogers. Do you want to see him? I’ll ask him to go if you want. Just say the word.”

Bucky’s head falls heavily into his hands. He releases a long, groaning sigh and sits like that for a moment before slowly looking up at Bruce with a wan smile. “Thanks, pal. Appreciate it. But I think I need to deal with this myself. Once and for all.”

When Bucky comes through the doorway from his office into the main room of the shop, he immediately sees Steve, all shoulders and earnestness. Steve’s hands are clasped in front of his waist, as if he’s trying to keep from wringing them nervously. He’s wearing navy slacks and a thin sweater in sky blue that accentuates… everything. 

Seeing his hopeful smile, Bucky’s heart actually hurts a little for him. He grins inwardly at that thought, amazed at his own gullibility. It’s okay, though, now. After yesterday, he’s in no danger from Steve Rogers. Not anymore. He stops several feet short of where Steve’s standing.

“You disappeared,” Steve offers with a tight, anxious little laugh.

Bucky smiles sadly. “You were busy. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“So, um… How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers with a shrug. “Everything’s the same. Thor shorted out half of Brooklyn and all of the Bronx, so there’s that. I’ve been subpoenaed to testify at his trial. But you, you’re America’s sweetheart again.”

Steve scoffs. “Working on it, I guess. They’ll hate me again tomorrow.” He looks into Bucky’s face with a painfully tentative eagerness, but although Bucky still finds him beautiful, Steve’s eyes no longer have the power to completely transfix him. 

“So I’ve almost finished the press I had to do. The Captain America Apology Tour. Fury hates it when I call it that. I’ll be going back upstate, but I wanted to— Buck, I didn’t know how to call you, after I acted like such an idiot — twice — and I was just sitting in the Tower and then you came to the Stock Exchange thing and I figured— The thing is—” 

Bucky can’t believe Steve’s voice actually cracks, but that’s sure what it sounds like. “What? What is the thing?”

Steve inhales deeply and Bucky sees the effort it takes for him to plunge ahead. “I have to go back to the Compound, but I wondered if I didn’t— If I was based at the Tower again, whether you would let me see you a little. Or a lot, maybe. See if you could like me again.”

“Steve, yesterday that reporter asked you who I was and you just dismissed me out of hand. I heard. You had a microphone. I had headphones.” Bucky’s tone isn’t angry, just matter-of-fact and maybe a little tired.

“You expect me to tell the truth about my life to the  _ press _ ? To Brock Rumlow, of all people?”

“Right. I understand that. But Steve, look, um— I’m a fairly levelheaded guy. I don’t know a lot about dating and all that, but I know when I’m in over my head. So I really appreciate you coming by, and I am more than flattered by…” Bucky makes a vague motion and sucks in a breath around the traitorous lump in his throat, determined to keep the conversation calm and kind. “But, I think I have to say no to your very tempting offer, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yes. Fine. Of course, I— Of course.” 

If he had to guess, Bucky would say that Steve feels a little like he had, yesterday, listening to Steve reduce Bucky’s feelings for him to an awkward annoyance. 

“I’ll just be going then,” Steve almost whispers. “It was nice to see you.”

He doesn’t move, though. Bucky’s heart aches to see Steve swaying, caught between the desire to make a graceful exit and the refusal to relinquish that last shred of hope. Because he knows the feeling. He really doesn’t mean to hurt Steve, he just can’t continue being hurt  _ by _ Steve. So he helps him.

“The thing is, Steve, with you I’m in real danger. You, you’re just about perfect, apart from that foul temper of yours,” Bucky chuckles a little, to let Steve know he’s teasing. “But I just don’t have much experience with love. And I don’t think I’d get over being tossed aside again, which I would absolutely expect to be. There are just too many pictures and news stories. You’re everywhere. So you’d be gone, but I’d keep having to see all these reminders of how much I cared and how much you… didn’t.”

“That really is a real no, isn’t it?” Steve laughs nervously, despite the tears now forming in his eyes. 

“I live in a three-story brownstone. You live in a ninety-three-story skyscraper. The whole world knows who you are. My roommate has trouble remembering my name.”

“Fine,” Steve says, nodding a little too hard and baring his teeth in a smile so false it looks painful. “Good decision.” 

He turns to leave the shop, then turns back to Bucky one last time. “Fame and all of that… It isn’t real, you know. And don’t forget. I’m also just a kid from Brooklyn, standing in front of another Brooklyn boy, asking him to love me.” 

One of Steve’s tears falls, but he gamely holds onto that pitiful smile.

There’s absolutely nothing Bucky can say. 

Steve steps just close enough to kiss Bucky softly on the cheek. Once. And then he turns and walks out the door. 

* * *

There’s not much left in the building that used to house Tony’s restaurant. There are barely enough stray folding chairs for everyone who’s sitting around, having been called to this emergency meeting of Bucky’s close friends.

“So what do you think, good move?” He looks around, seeking approval of his response to Steve’s offer.

Natasha doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Absolutely. You’ve always known where I stand. I only got you Steve’s cell phone number because Clint made me.”

Clint stares, open-mouthed, at Natasha. “You— But I—” 

“All superheroes are insane,” Riley opines, before Natasha and Clint pursue that discussion.

Bucky nods, satisfied. “Tony?”

Tony sniffs. “I mean, his ass isn’t  _ that _ great.”

“And he’s always so damn  _ sincere _ ,” Sam complains. “That shit gets old, man.”

“Great. Thanks,” Bucky sighs in relief. “Awesome.”

There’s a clatter at the door and a storm of footsteps as Thor comes rushing in. “You summoned me. What is the matter?”

“Bucky’s just turned down Steve Rogers,” Natasha informs him, with a not-very-subtle nod as she does, intended to let Thor know how he’s supposed to respond.

Thor either doesn’t get the message, or rejects it utterly. His thunderous voice is angry as he shouts, “Thou senseless twat!”

“No, Thor,” Natasha corrects him, “It’s entirely sensible. You know what he’s put Bucky through.”

“But they are in love!” Thor protests.

“I don’t think so, pal,” Bucky counters glumly. “And even if that were the case, some things are just not meant to be. You of all people should understand. You’ve had to live with my depressed ass for the last year and a half.”

“Well, what did he say?” Thor asks, unconvinced.

Bucky huffs a pained laugh. “It was sort of sweet, actually. Um, I mean he’s kind of a politician, right? He can deliver a line. He said fame isn’t real, and after all, he was also just a guy from Brooklyn, standing in front of another Brooklyn boy, asking me to love him.”

There’s a thick silence as everyone digests that. 

Thor looks astounded. “Oh, friend Bucky,” he gasps, his voice full of emotion, “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” He holds a hand to his breast, then dabs at his eye with the cuff of his sleeve. “Does anyone have a tissue?” 

Sam hands Thor a tissue, but no one else becomes tearful. They’re all touched by Steve’s declaration, but they’ve also all seen the way he’s wounded their friend. Thor’s not wrong, exactly, but neither is Bucky. 

The group leaves the empty restaurant, each of his friends giving Bucky a firm hug as they do. 

“You’ll be all right, dude. You did the right thing,” Sam tells him firmly.

“I know,” Bucky assures him. 

Bucky turns for home and Sam and Riley begin to walk in the other direction. Bucky whispers under his breath, reassuring himself, “I know.”

* * *

A week later, Bucky’s sound asleep when Thor comes crashing into his room, throwing himself headlong onto Bucky’s bed and damn near bouncing Bucky off of the mattress in the process. Thor grabs the TV remote from Bucky’s nightstand, aims it at the TV, and begins flipping through channels.

“Seriously? It’s the middle of the night,” Bucky whines, pulling the covers over his head.

“It is seven a.m., and there is something you must see.”

Bucky suddenly hears Steve’s voice fill the room. He slowly, carefully pulls the sheet down just enough to uncover his eyes, and focuses on the screen. Steve’s behind a podium, wearing a well-fitted blue suit and standing next to Nick Fury. 

“—right decision for me. If something ever happens and SHIELD needs to call on me, I’ll be there. But I doubt they will. Director Fury runs an outstanding organization, and I’m just one man.”

Bucky pulls the sheet away from his face and looks at Thor, perplexed and inexplicably alarmed. “What’s happening?”

“It has already happened,” Thor responds. “This was late yesterday.” 

On the screen, there’s a free-for-all as reporters vie and jostle to be the next to ask a question. Fury looks superciliously down on them from the dais in the media room of Stark Tower, pointing to one seemingly at random.

“Captain Rogers, this decision didn’t just come from nowhere. What’s happened to make you give up the shield now?” 

“What?” Bucky cries, sitting up. “He’s quitting? He’s resigning as Captain America?”

“Yes,” Thor tells him.

Steve looks resolute as he answers, “I think it’s been a long time coming, although it was only recently that I realized I needed to step down.”

“So what happened?” the reporter persists.

“That’s personal. I’ll just say that I’ve found myself making decisions and acting in ways that aren’t who I am. I’m proud of the job I’ve done as Captain America, but… I hurt someone I care about very much, and it made me realize that I’m not proud of who Steve Rogers has become.”

The room erupts again, the shouts becoming louder and more insistent now that the reporters smell blood in the water.

Brock Rumlow bellows over everyone else, hurling his question at Steve like the accusation it is. “Who was it? Who did you hurt?”

“As I said, that’s personal.”

Fury takes over at that point and begins to shut the press conference down.

“He is talking about you, friend Bucky,” Thor confirms. 

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “Yeah, I think he might be.”

“He says that the way he’s behaved is not the man he truly is.”

“I know. I heard him. But I don’t think I care, Thor. It’s too late. Even if— I just think it’s too late.”

As Fury is seen hustling Steve off the dais and into a waiting elevator, Thor turns off the television. He waits, but all Bucky does is flop down on his pillow, roll over and pull the blanket back over his head.

* * *

For a month, Bucky half-hopes, half-fears that Steve will try to contact him. The media is saying that he’s “disappeared,” but Bucky is more inclined to agree with Sam, that Steve has simply gone somewhere to be out of the spotlight. If he really meant what he said at the press conference, and in the handful of interviews he did afterward, it makes sense. People on social media debate endlessly about where he is, and his real reasons for giving up the role of Captain America. 

In the meantime, Bucky focuses on the things in his life that make him happy. 

To both his surprise and the literary agent’s, the preliminary feelers the agent agreed to send out have borne fruit. Two different publishers have asked for an outline and first chapters of Bucky’s proposed book on the Howling Commandos during World War II. To celebrate, Bucky’s friends have all met at the restaurant they’ve begun to frequent now that Tony’s is closed. They have a big table in an alcove to one side of the main dining room. As he expected, they’re making toasts to Bucky’s success that are at least as insulting as they are congratulatory.

“Here’s to Bucky, may his book be met with wild success. Which, given the subject matter, would be selling copies in the double digits.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Sam, who smiles fondly and toasts him with his glass before drinking.

“Stop it, you assholes, you’re being mean,” Natasha protests, trying not to smile. “Bucky’s our friend. We’ll all buy copies, and then there’s his mom, and his sisters. His sales will be at least in the teens.” She’s drowned out by laughter. 

While they’re enjoying appetizers and more harmless jokes at Bucky’s expense, Thor gets up and excuses himself. No one pays any attention, until he stays gone for over ten minutes. When he returns, there is some grade-school humor about his long trip to the bathroom, and he simply smiles and laughs along with his friends. 

But Bucky knows Thor well enough to see that there’s something he’s keeping to himself. Thor is well aware that his lack of guile makes him a terrible liar, so he’s had to learn to keep his silence if there’s something he doesn’t want known. And that’s what he’s doing now.

For the next few minutes, Bucky watches him carefully. Thor keeps looking out of the alcove they’re in, toward the entrance of the restaurant. He does it so often that, finally, Bucky tries to be unobtrusive as he turns to see what he’s looking at. When he does, he sees the unmistakable silhouette and blond hair of Steve Rogers, just leaving the restaurant.

Bucky leans toward Thor, who’s seated next to him. “Is that where you went?”

Thor doesn’t have to ask what Bucky means. “It is well. He is leaving. He did not wish his presence to trouble you on your night of triumph.”

“What? You mean you told him to leave?”

“On the contrary. I asked him to join us.” Thor lifts his chin in an endearing show of defiance. “I do not believe that it is ever too late for love.”

Riley hears that. “What? What are you two whispering about?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replies, but it’s clear he’s lying. 

“C’mon! You’re whispering to each other about love. If you don’t explain, I’m gonna make up my own explanation,” Riley threatens in a tipsy singsong.

Bucky has no idea what impels him to lift his napkin from his lap and excuse himself. The whole table looks at him, then Thor, and Bucky sees from the corner of his eye as Thor does a slapstick, full-arm shrug that says as clear as words that he’s going to play dumb about where Bucky’s going.

The air outside is warm and fragrant, with the kind of evening breeze that feels like a caress on bare skin. Bucky looks left and right, and sees Steve a block up the street, walking with a group of four or five other people. He jogs after them, with no idea what he might say when he reaches Steve, and no clear sense of why he’s even going after him.

They’re stopped, waiting for a group of people to leave a Korean restaurant before Steve’s group can enter. Steve sees him before Bucky can say anything. Bucky just stands awkwardly as Steve’s friends look from one to the other, their expressions full of curiosity. Steve simply tells them he’ll meet them inside, then lets the door close behind them. He takes a step toward Bucky, so that he’s not blocking the door to the restaurant, but remains a few feet away.

“Hi, Bucky,” Steve greets him solemnly.

“I— I felt bad, running you out of that restaurant. You didn’t have to leave.”

“I know. But Thor said you were celebrating, and I just thought maybe you’d rather not…”

“I appreciate the thought, I guess, but that wasn’t necessary.” 

“Figure I’ve made you uncomfortable enough for one lifetime. It just seemed the thing to do.” Steve changes gears then. “So congratulations. Thor says you’ve found a publisher for your book.”

“No, nothing so definite. There are a couple who want to know more, is all.”

“Still, it’s a start. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

With that, they seem to have exhausted all safe topics of conversation. Bucky doesn’t know what to say to Steve about resigning from his role as Captain America, or whether Steve would want to hear it even if he did. Still, he wants to wish Steve well, to let him know that there are no hard feelings.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends. And, um— Good luck. With whatever you’re gonna do now. I hope you’ll be really happy.”

“Bucky…” Steve’s face contorts as he tries to find words. “I never wanted to hurt you. Ever. I know I must’ve seemed completely self-centered, and I guess I was. I just— You deserved a lot better than you got from me. I’m always gonna be sorry for the things I did, the way they must’ve made you feel. I just wanted you to know that.”

Now it’s Bucky searching for words. “You giving up Captain America, that didn’t have anything to do with me, did it?”

“It had everything to do with you, Buck. It all got so twisted around that I fucked up the best chance I ever had at happiness. Even when you gave me another chance, I couldn’t get it right. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, and I’m not asking you to. I got lost somehow. But I’m workin’ on it. I wanna be a guy that could deserve you. I think I used to be, and maybe I can be again. ”

It’s going to take Bucky a long time to work through all of that. All he can think to say in the moment is, “Huh.” 

Steve smiles a little at that. “Maybe if—”

But he doesn’t finish. It’s as if the words stick in his throat, like he doesn’t believe he has the right to say them. Bucky’s not sure he does. 

For a long, silent minute, they just stand, a few feet apart, daring looks at one another every so often, but never making full eye contact. Bucky won’t, and Steve doesn’t seem like he can. In some ways, it feels to Bucky like a reversal of the way things had been between them previously. Not bad, just… different.

“Maybe,” Bucky hears himself say, soft and low.

And with that, he turns around and walks slowly back to where his friends are waiting. He doesn’t know what he meant by that maybe. All he knows is, for now, “maybe” seems like an okay way to leave things between himself and Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think! Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	6. The Real Steve Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gives Bucky an astounding gift to help him in his new career. It's the first step on a long, slow road to forgiveness and, if Bucky can ever learn to trust him again, love.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s made a terrible mistake hiring Thor’s friend Darcy Lewis to work in the bookshop. Bruce has quit three times already. It’s true that Darcy majored in World History in college and the customers love her. The problem is that she Never. Shuts. Up. Things are a little better now that Bruce is back from his meditation yoga retreat at the ashram in India, but still not as smooth as Bucky would like them to be. 

And he needs the shop to run smoothly. He signed a contract with one of the publishers three months ago, and he’s now working full time on his book. He’s just returned from a research trip to Europe, and right now he’s holed up in the cozy study in his house trying to pull his copious notes into some kind of order. 

Bucky’s house didn’t originally have a study; this space had originally belonged to the enormous bedroom on the second floor. He had always talked about someday taking some space from that room to make a study, but it was always just a vague dream, since that was Thor’s room. After the Christmas light incident, however, Thor had made it a moot point. Since the house needed some fairly extensive repairs anyway, Thor had simply instructed the builders to make Bucky’s dream a reality. 

It wasn’t like Bucky could really refuse; after all, Thor knew it was his dream and he was paying for the repairs. Besides, Thor was immovable on the subject. He also refused to consider paying less rent than he had always paid, despite Bucky’s frequent protests that it was only right. 

So these days, aside from occasional frantic calls from Bruce quitting his job over something Darcy has said or done, Bucky’s pretty damn happy. In fact, he’s actually smiling to himself as he works, although all he’s doing is looking over an old supply requisition form from the time of his great-grandfather’s Howling Commandos, when he hears the doorbell. 

Bucky is in no way prepared to see Steve Rogers standing on his doorstep. He’s so stunned that he doesn’t say anything for a second, just takes in that face, more beautiful even than in Bucky’s frequent memories of him. Steve’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, and his eyes shine with purpose.

“I wouldn’t have come here, but I went to your shop and they told me you’re working from home,” Steve blurts, speaking too fast, as if to get his message out before Bucky slams the door in his face. “And this is actually for your work.”

Steve holds out a flat cardboard box, about the length and width of a laptop computer and perhaps six inches deep. Bucky’s so consumed with trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Steve’s standing in front of him, he just reflexively reaches for the box.

“What is it?”

“It’s some stuff Tony Stark gave to me when I came out of the ice. Stuff Howard kept, like pictures, letters, some old maps, a couple documents… You know how instrumental Howard was in helping the Howlies plan their attacks on Hydra bases.”

Bucky’s suddenly a whole lot less focused on how good Steve looks in his blue turtleneck and the way his jeans fit. “Holy shit! Steve, are you serious?”

He’s already heading for the kitchen table, leaving the front door open for Steve to enter or not, unable to delay a moment before he sees what’s in the box. And it’s a gold mine. The box is full of official photos of Hydra bases the Howling Commandos had captured, intermixed with candid shots of Steve and the Howlies of that time. There are mission reports, inventory lists, and even letters from some of the Howlies to Howard Stark, with accounts of the raids. In all his research, Bucky’s never found  _ any _ of these.

“This is— These are— Steve,  _ thank you _ . I mean, of course I’ll return them to you, but I hope you’ll let me use some of these for the book.”

“Jeez, Buck, of  _ course _ . They’re yours. All of them. I want you to have them. I was so happy for you when I heard you were getting to write your book, you’d been so passionate about it when you told me about your idea, I just thought, you know, you might want them.”

“I can’t possibly keep them. They belong in a museum, if you don’t want them, but I’d—“

“It’s not that I don’t want them. It’s that I want  _ you _ to have them. For your book. And because George is in some of the pictures.”

Bucky’s speechless for the second time in just a few minutes. He can only shake his head, running a hand through his thick, brown hair and looking down at the astounding gift Steve’s given him. 

“Well, anyway,” Steve mutters, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “There they are. I’ll leave you to it.”

Steve turns to go back toward the door. For a moment, Bucky stares after him, unsure of what to do. But as he hears Steve’s steps retreat further toward the door, he shakes it off and follows.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve turns toward him, his hand already on the doorknob.

“This is really great. Really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Like I said, I’m happy about your book. I hope you’ll sign a copy for me.”

Bucky laughs uncomfortably. “It’s the least I could do. I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.  _ I _ owe you. You know, for… what I did. We’re not even, but it’s a start.”

“No, Steve, you don’t have to—“

“Maybe not, but I want to. Because I’ve had a lot of time to think, Bucky, and the things I did, the way I acted with you, I don’t know who that guy was. And I want you to know that, whoever he was, he wasn’t me.”

Bucky spends a moment taking that in, trying to make the pieces fit. From somewhere at the base of his spine, a sickly chill crawls upwards as Bucky realizes it’s happening again. That floor-disappearing-from-under-him, gut-punched feeling is already starting. Because if Steve wasn’t himself that night, what does that mean about the best sex he’s ever had?

“But… that night?” As soon as Bucky asks the question, he realizes he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

It continues to amaze Bucky that a man who stares down malevolent aliens and megalomaniacal villains, who could do all the things Steve had done with Bucky that night, can blush the way Steve does. But red face aside, Steve’s entirely serious, even grave, when he steps forward and wraps his hands around Bucky’s upper arms, eyes boring holes into Bucky’s. “No. That night was— Bucky, I meant everything about that night. Every touch. Every word I said.”

“Oh.” It’s all Bucky’s suddenly syrup-slow brain can come up with when Steve’s looking at him like that. He can actually  _ feel _ the deep emotion glowing in Steve’s eyes. It stops the freefall, warms the chill that was beginning to form.

“I’ll go,” Steve murmurs, letting go of Bucky and turning to open the door.

“Well, if you aren’t the guy I met, who are you, then?” Apparently Bucky’s mouth has decided not to wait for his stalled brain to tell it what to do, because the first time Bucky is aware of those words, it’s when he hears them fall from his lips. Which he can feel turning up in just the palest ghost of a flirty grin. He watches a look of cautious wonder come into Steve’s eyes. 

“I— If you want, we could, um, get to know each other. Over coffee, maybe?”

The shy note of trepidation in Steve’s question mirrors Bucky’s feelings. He’s pretty sure the warmth in Steve’s eyes is reflected in his own, too. It really does feel like they’re beginning completely anew.

“I sometimes take a break around ten in the morning. There’s a great coffee place near my shop called Grounds Control.”

“I know it. I could meet you there. Say, tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t look away from Bucky the whole time he’s opening the door and stepping out, so he stumbles a little over the threshold. Bucky laughs, but softly. It’s too soon, this tenuous new start is too delicate yet, for teasing. He knows they look like utter dorks, smiling shyly at each other, but that’s okay. For now, it’s exactly right. 

* * *

Once again the next morning, Bucky’s closet is practically empty and his bedroom looks like the aftermath of a rave. He finally finds something to wear that he thinks Steve might like, that hits the right casual vibe but looks good. Then it takes forever to get the tucked/untucked ratio on the shirt correct. It costs him over an hour of work time. Which isn’t so bad, really, because Bucky’s so nervous and conflicted about meeting Steve for coffee that he can’t concentrate, anyway. 

He hopes that he isn’t being unspeakably naïve in giving Steve another chance. Somehow, though, he doesn’t think he is. Steve says that his previous behavior was out of character for him, and while Bucky’s not ready to take those claims at face value, there’s the fact that he gave up the shield. Resigning as Captain America so that he can get his head on straight isn’t something anyone would do as an empty gesture just to get someone into bed. And Steve  _ seems _ different now. More thoughtful, more deliberate, less like he’s careening from moment to moment. 

But when Bucky sees Steve waiting at a table inside the coffee shop, he has yet another moment of doubt.  _ What is he doing? _ There’s a real risk that Steve will eviscerate him and leave him broken again, dealing with wounds that will take months to heal. Bucky falters, looking in the window, watching Steve anxiously turn a cup of something around and around on the table. 

And then Steve looks up, scanning the coffee shop with a look of anxious misery. He’s nervous.  _ Captain freaking America _ is nervous about having coffee with Bucky. That decides it. Yeah, he’s hurt Bucky deeply in the past. But he’s also made Bucky feel things no one else ever has. And right this minute, he’s so vulnerable and beautiful that Bucky walks the rest of the way to the door. 

Maybe, just maybe, he really is the man Bucky once thought he was. Looking at him now, feeling the way Steve has always affected him, Bucky knows that what they could have together is worth the risk. 

Steve actually stands when Bucky walks in. The gesture is so gentlemanly, so 1940s, it instantly sends a flood of warmth through Bucky. 

“You’re here,” Steve observes, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath. “I thought maybe if you had time to think about it, you might change your mind.”

Bucky gives a slight shrug, in keeping with the emotional distance he’s determined to maintain. “There’s always time for that. Let me go order. I’ll be right back.”

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him the entire time he’s at the counter. While he waits for his cappuccino, stealing his own glances at Steve, it hits Bucky that something fundamental has changed between them. Before that day in his shop, everything that had happened between them had been Steve acting and Bucky reacting. But since then, Steve’s behaved as if he’s given Bucky the keys and Bucky alone is in the drivers’ seat. Long-term, Bucky wouldn’t want such a one-sided relationship. But for now, while they’re feeling their way… Maybe, if they take it slow, there’s a chance Bucky won’t end up lying crushed in a ditch this time.

“You look good,” Steve smiles shyly as Bucky sits down across the little bistro table from him.

“You, too. Whatever you’re doing these days, it agrees with you.”

“I’m consulting. At SHIELD. It’s freelance, and I can mostly do it from anywhere, so it gives me a lot of free time. I’ve been drawing. Reading. Long runs, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds great. Relaxing.”

“It is. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until I stepped down. And now that I’ve had some time to get grounded again and do some thinking, I know I’m not going back to that.”

“So you’ve given up the shield for good?”

Steve frowns thoughtfully and it’s obvious he’s choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know. Nobody at SHIELD seems to want that, but I think maybe they’re finally starting to understand that it’s too big a job for one person. They’re talking about forming a team, an initiative — “

Steve cuts himself off and Bucky raises an eyebrow in question.

“Sorry. I can’t really talk about it. But I know that Tony’s shown you his prototype powered armor. That’s coming along, and it’s part of what they’re— Well, that’s all I can say. But it’s a good plan, Bucky. It could mean that I can go back to serving as Captain America, but have a life, too.”

“That’s great, Steve. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, seems like things are looking up for both of us, huh? Tell me how the book’s going.”

And for the next half-hour, Bucky does. Steve’s fully attentive, asking questions and drawing Bucky out on things he’s especially curious about. Bucky is struck again by how intelligent Steve is, and how well-considered his thoughts about Bucky’s subject matter are. Eventually, though, they stop talking shop and move on to other topics. Bucky tells Steve that Thor is thinking about ending his “season of repose” and returning to Asgard. Steve talks about the painting he’s working on. 

The initial tension is forgotten as they get caught up in their discussion. It becomes easy and comfortable. It feels good to sit here, talking animatedly, laughing, following wherever the conversation leads them. Bucky watches Steve as he talks, the way his pretty eyes narrow when he laughs, the way his kissable mouth widens into a full smile when he’s really enjoying a story Bucky’s telling him. His playful expressions when he’s teasing Bucky. When it occurs to Bucky to check his watch, he’s stunned to see that almost an hour and a half have passed.

“Oh, man! Listen, I gotta get back to work. I try to keep strict hours, and I got a ton to do today.”

“Of course!” Steve exclaims, suddenly tensing and seeming embarrassed. “Of course, you should go. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“No, not at all! I’ve just been so interested in what we were talking about, I lost track of time.”

They fumble awkwardly through the next few moments, Steve repeatedly apologizing and Bucky reassuring him, as they dispose of their cups and step out onto the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. Bucky doesn’t want to push this first, fragile exploration, but he also suddenly realizes that he does not want to go their separate ways without knowing when he’ll see Steve again. He wonders whether Steve will ask.

“Well, um—” Steve begins. “I don’t think you have my cell number. Do you want to—“

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky interjects, snapping at the suggestion before it’s even out of Steve’s mouth. Flushing, he pulls out his cell phone and they go through the ritual of exchanging numbers. 

When it starts to get a little weird in that way reluctant goodbyes tend to do, Bucky gives Steve a tight smile. “Well. I’ll see you.”

“Hope so, Buck. I’d like that. You could call me,” Steve suggests, then quickly adds, “If you want.”

* * *

Bucky’s not at all surprised when Riley calls to invite him over for dinner that night. Nor is he surprised to find Natasha and Clint already there when he arrives. The only surprise is how lightly they all tread around the subject of Steve. Somebody — Bucky suspects Sam — has clearly had a talk with Natasha. In fact, nobody even mentions Steve until Tony shows up. 

Tony’s presence  _ is _ a surprise. They haven’t seen much of him since he’s been living back in the Tower full time. Riley sees him frequently, because of the work on Tony’s powered armor, but Bucky hasn’t seen him in a month. 

Sam’s been at work all day so, to everyone’s relief, he doesn’t cook. Instead, they order pizza and lounge casually around the living room to eat. Bucky finds himself next to Tony on high stools at the breakfast bar, turned toward each other so they can reach their pizza on the counter but also converse with their friends in the living room. 

“So, Buckaroo, how’d it go with Cap this morning? And before you answer, you should know that I already got a report from him.”

“Becoming a matchmaker, Tony?”

“Never,” Tony shudders dramatically. “I am, however, in a unique position here, since I see a lot of Cap these days. I also had to endure your incredibly tedious blue period, and I’m not interested in a repeat. Which — full disclosure — I also told Cap.”

“Can you still call him that if he isn’t Captain America anymore?” Riley wonders aloud from where he’s sitting on the couch, tucked comfortably into Sam.

“I’m too lazy to call him Steve.”

“That’s literally the same number of syllables,” Sam drawls.

“Hush,” Tony barks. “I’m having a conversation with Sergeant Sweetcheeks here. Now spill.”

Bucky shrugs and attempts a neutral expression. “It went just fine. It was good. We had coffee, we talked, then we left. End of story.”

“Please tell me you write better than that. Could we have just a  _ tad _ more detail, please? This is for science.”

“What? I should think that, after the last several flaming disasters, you’d all be happy for me that we managed to have a nice, quiet cup of coffee.”

Riley asks, “Are you gonna see him again?”

“I don’t know. He gave me his number, said I could call him, but that’s where we left it.”

“You gonna call him?” Clint queries from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Well, if I do, I’m sure not gonna tell you guys. When did you get so damn nosy?”

Natasha, curled up next to Riley, lets out a harsh laugh. “When you had coffee with a guy who’s crushed you no fewer than three times, that’s when.”

“All right, Nat,” Sam cautions, then turns to Bucky. “Look, we care, man. Don’t wanna see you get your heart broken. Just be careful. That’s all.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not lookin’ to get hurt, either,” Bucky sighs. He takes a long drink of beer before giving in to the inevitable. He simply doesn’t have the strength to resist asking Tony, “So what did Steve say about it? How’d he say it went?”

“He didn’t. He blushed and told me it was none of my business.”

“What?!” Bucky shrieks, affecting outrage. “You didn’t tell me that was an option!”

Tony just laughs, along with everyone else.

Bucky persists, “Well, at least tell me what  _ you _ said. You said you told him something.”

“I told him you’re a good guy, and he’s been a dick. Said I’d be watching, and if he jerks you around I will ensure his next uniform involves tights.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said if he ever hurts you again, he’ll wear ‘em.”

* * *

On his walk home, Bucky gets a text.

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Good to see you today. 

Bucky smiles at the screen. He can see how careful Steve is trying to be, and he appreciates it. He’s equally careful when he responds.

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Good to see you, too.

He watches anxiously for a few minutes, but Steve doesn’t text further. He’s equal parts relieved and disappointed. Yeah, Sam’s right. He needs to be  _ very _ careful. 

* * *

For the next three days, Bucky practically has to sit on his hands to keep himself from calling or texting Steve. And Thor doesn’t help the situation by asking him multiple times a day whether he’s done it. 

“Friend Bucky, your Midgardian custom of waiting three days to contact someone after a date is primitive and barbaric. You wish to spend more time with Captain Rogers. He wishes to spend more time with you. To do otherwise seems to me the height of insanity!”

“I’m not playing that game, Thor. I’m just takin’ it slow. You know what happened before.”

“Yes, we all three were photographed in our underwear and there were many articles insisting that I had been involved in your sexual tryst. Afterward, I was paid a large sum of money to appear on the cover of a romance novel.”

“Well… that too. But you know what I mean.”

“I do. I also know that you are a man who does not fall in love easily. I have never seen you look at a man as you do Captain Rogers. I understand that he has erred, and it is right of your friends to advise caution. I, too, advise caution. But they would have you lock your heart away from Steve Rogers forever, and there, I must disagree. I have lived for fifteen hundred years, friend Bucky, and in that time, I have met very few whom I could truly love. When you meet such a one, there is always danger to your heart. But there is also great joy. I believe that your joy lies with Steve Rogers, and his with you.”

Bucky’s a little taken aback. “Wow. That was really, um, poetic. Thanks. I guess you would know a lot about love, having lived so long, huh?”

“You are welcome. I must admit, however, that I borrowed some of that advice from ‘Voyage To Arousal.’”

“The romance novel with your picture on the cover?” 

“Indeed.”

* * *

Bucky waits until the next evening to text Steve. He’s sitting at the kitchen table while his eggplant parmigiana bakes, listening to Thor singing in the shower because, at that volume, he doesn’t have a choice. He types out the message he’s decided on — after extensive consideration when he should’ve been focusing on work — takes a deep breath, and pushes “Send.” 

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** How’s it going?

Because Bucky’s clever like that.

He’s still holding the phone, cursing himself for being an idiot with no game, when Steve texts back.

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Hi!

Apparently, Steve is equally smooth.

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Hi. How RU?

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Good. Quiet day 

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Jealous. Thor’s in the shower rn

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** What song?

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Bohemian Rhapsody. KMN

When Steve responds with a link to the Amazon listing for Stark Industries’ noise-cancelling headphones, Bucky barks a surprised laugh and feels a flush of warmth. It’s so unexpected and cute, he forgets to be nervous when he types in his next message.

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Would you maybe like to see a movie with me this weekend?

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** YES

Bucky smiles broadly at his phone, even though his reaction to those capital letters makes him feel like he’s about sixteen years old.

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** I’ll ask Thor if u can use his Beatles wig again

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Don’t think I need a disguise anymore

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Who said anything about needing a disguise? 

The rest of the text conversation is just making plans for where and when to meet on Friday. When it’s over, Bucky stares at his phone for a long time before he gets up to make a salad.

* * *

Bucky’s already in bed on Thursday night when he hears the soft  _ ding  _ that signals an incoming text.

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Hope you had a good day. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Bucky finds himself grinning as he types back.

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Me, too

**Steve Rogers:** **  
** Good night

**Bucky Barnes:** **  
** Night, Steve

He watches the dots after the little message that tells him Steve is typing. They go on for such a long time that Bucky thinks he must be sending a lengthy message. But no message comes through. He wonders about that for a few minutes before it occurs to him think that Steve might have been doing the thing Bucky does, where he types something, thinks it’s stupid, then types something else, thinks  _ that’s _ stupid, and ends up not sending a text at all. 

It’s a sweet thought.

* * *

Bucky’s about a block away when he sees Steve standing in front of the theater. Like he had at the coffee shop, Steve appears nervous. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and he can’t seem to stay in one place. He looks dressed up, Bucky thinks, or at least dressed carefully. He’s wearing pleated Dockers in a blue that matches one of the colors in his carefully tucked-in plaid button-down shirt. It’s so cute, Bucky’s grinning at him when Steve looks up and sees him. He thinks he sees a smolder in Steve’s eyes as he takes in Bucky’s black jeans and soft, grey v-neck.

They smile and flirt tentatively as they buy tickets and popcorn, which Steve insists on paying for.

The movie is good enough that it gives Bucky and Steve something to talk about as they walk in the general direction of Bucky’s house. They stop at a neighborhood tavern Bucky and his friends go to often enough that the owner keeps a bottle of the vodka Natasha likes. It’s crowded tonight, but Bucky knows most of the bartenders, and one of his favorites is working.

Joey is a giant of a guy with messy, reddish-brown hair and a beard that hides his mouth until he cracks his huge, gap-toothed grin. “Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” he asks as he comes down the bar toward Bucky. Joey pointedly ogles Steve, who’s several feet away, staking their claim to a tiny, stand-up table. 

Bucky grins crookedly, feeling very self-conscious, and asks for a couple of draft beers. 

“So, is this a bros-having-beers thing, or is it a date?” Joey asks as he sets the beers down in front of Bucky. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Bucky replies, holding out some cash.

Joey waves the money away with a comical leer at Steve. “Dude, I’m straight as a pin, and I’d climb that like a tree. Put your money away and get after it.”

Bucky laughs and carries the beers to the table.

It’s an odd experience having drinks in public with Captain America. He gets a lot of looks, which Bucky supposes would just naturally be the case with a guy as handsome as Steve Rogers, even if he hadn’t saved the world every couple weeks for the last few years. Not many people actually come up to him for autographs or pictures, but a few do, and a couple of people buy him drinks. 

He’s unfailingly polite to everyone, but he’s watching Bucky carefully. When a group of slightly inebriated women get the selfies they ask for and go back to their own table, Steve leans in toward Bucky.

“Is this bothering you? Because we could leave. I know it’s weird.”

“I don’t know, to be honest. It’s kind of fun watching you and your adoring fans.”

Steve rolls his eyes, and Bucky can see there’s a hint of genuine annoyance under Steve’s attempt to be a good sport. “The dancing monkey.”

“The what?”

“Nothin’. Just something I used to call myself when I was on the war bond tour. I never have gotten used to that part of the job.” Steve gulps the last quarter-glass of his beer.

“We can go if you want,” Bucky smirks. “If you’ve had enough of your admirers.”

“It’s not them I’ve been looking forward to seeing all week.”

Steve’s blue gaze is so intense that Bucky has to look away, fiddling with the cardboard coaster underneath his glass. 

“Yeah, let’s take off,” Bucky decides, and they wind their way through the crowd to the door.

As they leave the bar, the evening air is still warm, smelling of car exhaust and the mixed aromas of the various restaurants in this block of Smith Street. Bucky takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, just savoring the smell of home. 

“I’m sorry, Buck, if that was out of line. Or creepy.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Saying I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. It’s true, but I guess it came out wrong, like I’m trying to put pressure on you. I’m not.”

“Okay,” Bucky shrugs. What Steve had said hadn’t felt creepy. It had actually sent shivers down his spine. And now  _ he _ feels creepy for all the time he’s spent thinking about Steve kissing him goodnight. He decides to start walking and change the subject.

Their walk is pleasant. Relaxed. They take their time, just enjoying being together, trying to make each other laugh. Bucky thinks about holding Steve’s hand, but Steve’s hands are in his pockets, and he’s not sure what that means, so he doesn’t try. 

Eventually, Bucky realizes they’re getting close to his house. “You walking me home?”

Steve looks down at his feet as he laughs softly. “Guess that’s a little old fashioned, huh?”

“You worried I can’t take care of myself?”

“I’ve sparred with you. I know you can take care of yourself. It’s just… I’m from the ‘40s, okay? I was taught to walk my date home.”

“I’m not complainin’.” And then Bucky does reach for Steve’s hand, because it’s the first time they’ve called this a date to one another. 

Steve grins shyly at him and enthusiastically twines his fingers with Bucky’s, like he’s been waiting all night for permission.

At the bottom of the short stoop in front of Bucky’s door, they turn to one another. Bucky wants more than anything to invite Steve in, to take Steve up to his bed and… But he knows it’s too soon. It’s just that tonight has been perfect, and he doesn’t want it to be over. Just because he’s not going to sleep with Steve, doesn’t mean the night has to end yet. He stands, with his flesh hand still holding Steve’s and the metal one in his pocket, and turns to Steve.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Steve murmurs, taking a step closer, bringing their chests so close Bucky can feel the warmth of Steve through their shirts, but not quite touching. It’s suddenly a little bit hard to breathe, and Bucky feels Steve’s closeness in his whole body. Steve’s looking into his eyes again, in that way that grabs Bucky and won’t let him go — not that he’s fighting it right now. “But I better not.”

Bucky makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat. It’s not a word, and it’s a little embarrassing, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. Because that is not the answer Bucky had been expecting.

“I don’t wanna make any more mistakes,” Steve says, and softly begins to slide the back of one finger, infinitely slowly, down Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s spellbound. He can do nothing but gaze back at Steve, letting Steve see his own attraction reflected in Bucky’s gray-blue eyes. When Steve’s finger reaches Bucky’s jaw, he hooks it lightly underneath and gently tilts Bucky’s chin up. 

Their lips are close enough for Bucky to catch a hint of beer and the popcorn they shared on Steve’s soft breath, but Steve doesn’t move closer. He’s still holding Bucky’s eyes locked to his, waiting, keeping Bucky suspended in this breathless moment while Bucky’s already-simmering blood continues to heat. They’re standing too close together for Bucky not to sense that Steve’s just as worked up as he is, and that’s when he gets it. Bucky realizes, with a shock, that Steve is not going to kiss him. If Bucky kisses Steve, he’ll kiss back, but he’s leaving the choice to Bucky. Steve will kiss him by invitation only.

So Bucky closes the slight distance between them and captures Steve’s lips with his. Just like Bucky remembers, Steve’s lips are warm and firm, fitted so perfectly to his that Bucky thinks Steve is the only person who’s ever truly kissed him. The kiss is delicate and drawn out, filled with mutual attraction but careful and respectful. Bucky wants more. He pulls his hand from his pocket to place it on Steve’s hip, loosening his hold on Steve’s fingers to do the same with the other hand. 

But Steve lifts his lips from Bucky’s and slowly takes a step back.

“Steve—“

“I want to, Buck. I can’t tell you how much I want to. But you’re— I told you, I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”

“You sure it would be a mistake?” Bucky grins, raising a roguish eyebrow.

Steve frowns and sticks his hands in his pockets, staring at the small patch of sidewalk between their feet as he says, “I don’t want to take that chance.”

“Why do you make it sound so serious?”

“Because it— I don’t think you get it,” Steve tells him, the volume of his voice rising a bit with feeling. As he starts speaking, it’s as though the words spill out from a door he hadn’t intended to open, and the more he reveals, the more urgent his tone becomes. “I can’t get you out of my head. The whole time after I made such an ass of myself about those reporters, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even though I knew I’d destroyed any chance with you. And then I saw you again, at the Stock Exchange, and I couldn’t believe it. I thought, ‘This is my chance to get it right.’ And then I blew it again. I took that hope in your eyes and I— When you told me you didn’t want to see me, and I thought I’d lost any chance with you, that’s when I knew.”

Bucky’s so stunned by Steve’s words that he hasn’t breathed the whole time Steve’s been speaking. He barely manages to form a question. “Knew what?”

“That I had to do something about my life. About who I’d let myself become.”

“Don’t you mean let yourself be turned into? You didn’t get there by yourself.”

“I appreciate that, but no. That’s too easy. I’m not going to blame anyone else for  _ my _ actions. That’s why I had to give up the shield. I needed to find the guy I used to be, before all the noise and distraction of being Captain America. If I could say those things to the man I— I didn’t want to be a guy who could treat  _ you _ like that. So I quit. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But it was the only way I could ever hope to be someone worthy of you.”

“Of… of  _ me _ ?” 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s too much.” Steve grabs a handful of his own hair and turns away from Bucky. “Ugh, I was so determined not to push! I’m not trying to put pressure on you, I swear! I just—” Steve turns back to Bucky then, and drops his hands to his side. “I’m in love with you, Buck. I think I have been since that first day in your bookshop. I’m not asking you to love me, too; I would never expect that after all the things I’ve put you through. But, well, I’ve said it now, and it’s true. And that’s why I can’t go inside with you. Because I love you, and I want you to love me, too. I know I have to earn that love, and you’ve given me this chance that I know I absolutely don’t deserve, but I swear to you that—“

“Steve.”

“What?”

“Okay.”

Bucky had felt tears pricking behind his eyes as soon as Steve began talking, which had only become more insistent throughout the entirety of Steve’s speech. But Steve’s perplexed frown is so adorable, Bucky thinks now he might laugh rather than cry. Or maybe do both at the same time. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grins a little. “We’ll take it slow. That was my plan, anyway, except that you’re so fucking gorgeous I kinda lost my head there for a minute. It’s okay. We’re good.”

“You mean I didn’t just scare you away? Again?” 

“Scare me? Yeah. But not away.”

“No?”

“No.”

Steve doesn’t come closer. He just smiles a little, as much as he can while he comes to grips with having just handed his heart to Bucky. “Then could I maybe see you again?”

“Yeah, Steve. I’d like that.”

* * *

And so begins a slow, old-fashioned courtship. 

Bucky’s never used the word “courtship” before, certainly not to describe his own dating life, but it’s the word that comes to mind when he thinks about his relationship with Steve. They go on dates — actual outings that Steve plans, sometimes weeks in advance. Steve is extremely thoughtful and romantic in the things he plans for them to do together, and there are frequently sweet surprises during their dates that make Bucky feel special and cherished.

He takes Bucky to the Met to see an exhibition entitled “World War I in the Visual Arts” followed by a picnic, since they’re in Central Park already. There’s an actual picnic basket with enough food to feed a platoon and a bottle of exquisite wine that Bucky suspects is very expensive. He takes Bucky for a day-long motorcycle ride through the Hudson River Valley. They do traditional date things like go out for dinner and see movies and plays. 

They do less formally-planned things together, of course. Sometimes they spend lazy time together just watching TV or playing Xbox. Bucky likes to make Steve play the Lego Captain America game, and never lets him be any character other than Captain America. He suspects that Steve doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he pretends to, but he still loves the fact that Steve is willing to do it just because Bucky asks. 

Over the months, Steve shows Bucky in a thousand ways that he meant exactly what he said when he told Bucky he’s in love with him. Somewhere along the way, he stops being quite so careful with Bucky, so that the relationship settles into a more comfortable, natural give and take. Still, Steve remains extremely attentive and considerate, always putting Bucky’s wishes ahead of his own, and Bucky begins to realize that he’s not just trying to make up for past mistakes. This is who Steve is. 

There’s just one problem with Steve planning such wonderful dates, treating Bucky like a prince, and being the perfect gentleman. It’s that “perfect gentleman” part. By the end of three months, Bucky’s crazy about Steve. He’s pretty sure he’s in love, although he’s not ready to use that word yet, even to himself. But he is completely, inescapably in lust. With every smile, every laugh, every drive to the mountains for a romantic lunch at a rustic inn, Steve becomes more attractive to Bucky. 

He’ll kiss Bucky.  _ Oh, holy shit will he kiss Bucky. _ Steve kisses Bucky until his knees buckle and his entire body feels like molten lava, until Bucky’s gasping with desire and pulling at Steve’s clothes. 

But Steve won’t sleep with him. 

Bucky tries everything to seduce Steve. Steve tells him that he wants him, and Bucky can feel how true that is. He’ll let Bucky take his shirt off, and he strokes and caresses Bucky’s bare skin with his hands while he worships him with his mouth. He’ll even grind obscenely against Bucky while Bucky’s doing the same to him. But there is always a limit. Sometimes Bucky wants to pull his hair out with frustration.

“You’re trying to kill me. That’s it. You’re actually Hydra and this is all just an extremely slow-motion assassination. That’s it, isn’t it?” Bucky gasps when Steve stops him, for the thousandth time, from unbuttoning his pants. 

“No, Buck,” Steve chuckles, panting as he pulls back a little from where he’s been half-lying on Bucky. Bucky’s been successful enough that they’re in Steve’s bed, but mostly just because the two of them are too big to make out effectively on a couch. “Trust me, it’s just as hard for me.”

“Then say yes, why don’tcha?”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I feel like I still don’t deserve you. I’m not worthy of you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, don’t you think that’s my choice? And I say you are. So get naked.” Bucky attempts to make that happen. 

“Stop! I’m serious, Buck, I’m not ready. I mean it.” Steve takes Bucky’s hands into his, tenderly holding them away from his body. 

“Well, when will you be?” 

“I don’t know. Soon, maybe. Just— Please. Give me time.”

Bucky sits up and shifts so that he can swing his legs off the bed. He won’t push any more, although he really wants to. He leans over, trying to will his cock to cease and desist. As if that’s worked any of the other times he’s tried it over the past few months.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Steve says, running a hand down Bucky’s back, moist with perspiration.

“You don’t have to apologize. Of course not. You wanna wait, we’ll wait. It’s just tough.” Bucky turns his head to look at Steve, looking gorgeously disheveled lying on his side in the tangled sheets behind him, head propped up on one hand. “You’re unfairly hot, you realize that, right?”

“Yeah, my doctor prescribed some pills for that.”

“Asshole,” Bucky chuckles, and pushes Steve over onto his back with his hand spread out over Steve’s whole face. 

* * *

The special reports have been coming in since early afternoon. Bucky’s given up all pretense of trying to work on his book, because he’s glued to the cable news coverage of the battle. The building is swarming with black-clad idiots who all seem to be dumb as stumps but, unfortunately, also seem to be armed to the teeth and hopped up on adrenaline. Bucky’s never been good at waiting helplessly while somebody else fights, and this is  _ Steve _ . It’s been a hellishly long afternoon.

The assholes in black are from an organization that calls itself The Black, run by a Lithuanian wackjob named Moze Balkus. Bucky hates The Black. He loves to wear black, especially when fighting. It looks damn good on him, and he’s always thought bad guys should be required to wear a different color. And now these dipshits have taken over a skyscraper. They’re holding over two thousand people hostage in the building, and they want only one thing. They’re demanding that their leader, Balkus, be released from Seagate Prison.

Which is never going to happen. Just the sheer number of people Balkus has killed makes it unthinkable, and then there’s the fact that he’s batshit crazy and inspires other nutcases to rally to his cause. 

Which is why Steve’s back in his Captain America uniform, leading an army of SHIELD agents trying to rescue the hostages. He had said he’d return if SHIELD needed him to, and he’s as good as his word. Bucky feels sick with apprehension.

It’s nearly impossible to clear terrorists out of a 70-story building one by one. SHIELD has all kinds of high-tech toys, which helps, but it takes hours, during which there are innumerable firefights, some actual fires, and a handful of explosions. Every so often, a SHIELD agent or two is carried out of the skyscraper on a stretcher. Each time, Bucky feels his heart in his throat wondering whether Steve will be next. 

It’s midnight before The Black is finally defeated and the hostages rescued, and by that time, five SHIELD agents and eight hostages are dead. Many others are wounded. All of the news outlets are hounding the former hostages, and the ones who agree to be interviewed tell some hair-raising stories of the fighting. Each of their stories seems to involve death-defying heroics by Captain America, and Bucky is now pacing the floor in front of his TV. Especially when the reporters start asking where Captain America is.

Soon, all the channels are taking up the cry. Now that the danger is over, they need something new to keep viewers tuned in, so the big story becomes, “Where is Captain America?” Nobody seems to know. By one a.m., Bucky’s so frantic with fear that he’s about to go downtown and search the building himself.

That’s when Agent Maria Hill calls.

“Sergeant Barnes, I need you to go out your front door and get into the car you’ll see there. And I need you to do it without asking any questions.”

Bucky’s stunned. Has Steve been killed in the rescue? Is that why Agent Hill needs  _ him _ ? Frantic with fear becomes speechless with terror, and all he can do is grunt, “Uh-huh” and do as he’s told.

In the street outside his house is an almost comically cliché black SUV with tinted windows, but Bucky’s not laughing. The front passenger door flies open and he sees Maria Hill behind the wheel as another agent vacates the front seat and gets in the back. “Get in,” Agent Hill calls to him, and he sprints to the vehicle.

“Where’s Steve? What’s happened to him?” he asks breathlessly as he clips his seatbelt. The SUV’s already rocketing down the street.

“He’s at the Tower. Alive, but badly injured. Burns and several broken bones, a couple of gunshot wounds. He’s— It’s bad, Sergeant. And I thought he’d want you there.”

Bucky’s chest seizes and he thinks he feels his heart stop.  _ Steve _ . He swallows painfully and forces himself to ask, “Is Steve going to die?”

“I don’t know. The medical team at the Tower is the best there is. He’s been in surgery for a couple hours now, and I couldn’t just sit there waiting. I had to do something to help, and I thought it would help him to have you there.”

“Me.”

Agent Hill flashes a look at Bucky before turning back to the windshield, not slowing the SUV’s rush through the streets toward the Tower. “Sergeant, I’ve been working with Captain Rogers since they pulled him out of the ice. He started out miserable and went downhill from there. Until he met you. If whatever happened between you hadn’t knocked some sense into him, he would’ve just kept letting them eat him alive until there was nothing left. Best thing that ever happened to him was giving up the shield to pull himself together. So yeah. You.”

For the rest of the harrowingly reckless drive to Stark Tower, Bucky’s not paying any attention to the traffic.

Steve’s out of surgery when they arrive at the Tower. Director Fury and a waiting room full of SHIELD agents struggle with their impatience outside a set of double doors with a large, red “DO NOT ENTER: Authorized Surgical Personnel Only” sign. 

Agent Hill leaves Bucky with Director Fury, who introduces him to some guy named Coulson, and they make uncomfortable small talk while Hill strides purposefully through the double doors with the big, red sign. Less than five minutes later, she all but pushes a man in wrinkled, green scrubs through the doors. 

“Barnes,” she calls. “This is Dr. Ayers. He’ll take you to Cap.”

“Won’t you, doctor?” she adds more quietly, with a sweet smile that creeps the hell out of Bucky and, obviously, the doctor too.

“Yes. Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky follows the doctor through the doors into a long corridor with metallic white walls. They pass several doors on each side of the corridor before the doctor pushes through one that looks, to Bucky, just like all the rest. 

It’s a fairly large room, but it’s full of medical equipment, much of which Bucky’s never seen before. It all looks ridiculously high-tech and futuristic. The room smells like disinfectant with a hint of stale coffee and perspiration. There are at least seven people moving quickly and decisively around an oversized hospital bed in the middle of the room, where the tubes and monitors and glowing screens seem to be the most concentrated. 

As soon as Bucky sees Steve in the bed, he sees nothing else.

He actually pushes someone out of his way to get to Steve’s side, although he doesn’t realize it. All he’s aware of is that beautiful face, covered with cuts and abrasions. The lips he’s spent hours kissing, swollen and split in two places. The deep blue eyes invisible behind puffy, closed lids and those impossibly long eyelashes fluttering on pale, bruised cheeks.

He sinks to his knees beside the bed, taking Steve’s hand into both of his, peppering it with kisses before holding it reverently to his cheek. Someone brings Bucky a chair and he sits automatically, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. 

Steve remains unconscious for the rest of the night. The flurry of activity around him slows, but never stops. Bucky simply sits, holding Steve’s hand, occasionally brushing a soft kiss across his cheek or his lips, murmuring quietly to him. At first, he just says whatever comes to mind. But after a while, he finds himself telling Steve stories of times Bucky himself was hurt in a fight, trying to make them funny in case Steve can hear him. As the sun comes over the horizon and climbs into the sky, however, Bucky finds himself talking more seriously, thinking out loud about the two of them, and what Steve’s come to mean to him.

“I feel kinda stupid, really. The things that happened, I didn’t understand why they hurt so bad. If you’d been just some cocky celebrity, I’d have walked it off and been laughing about it in a week. But I know why now. I  _ saw _ you, Steve. I saw the guy who finds evil in the world and can’t  _ not  _ fight back. I saw the guy who’s only famous because he has to be, because that’s the price of being the guy who saves the world. I saw the man under the fancy uniform — which you look  _ damn _ hot in, by the way.”

Bucky smiles and laughs softly, lifting up to kiss Steve’s cool, dry lips. “You’re a good man, Steve. You’re as tough as you need to be, and still underneath all the muscle, you’re gentle and sweet. You’re not weak. That’s not why it all got to you. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known, probably because of all you’ve been through since you were a sick little kid. You’re just looking for where you belong in this world you’ve woken up to.”

Steve exhales softly, the barest hint of a moan in his breath, and his eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake. 

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky whispers, one hot tear squeezing from his eye to run down his cheek and splash noiselessly onto Steve’s hand. It’s the first time he’s admitted it to either one of them. But he knows, in his soul, that it’s true. 

For several breaths, Bucky leans his forehead on Steve’s chest, just feeling the rise and fall of his muscles under the thin gown with a quiet smile.

And then he feels a hand on his head, petting his hair. 

Bucky’s head pops up so quickly, it makes him dizzy in his sleep-deprived state. He finds himself looking into Steve’s eyes, endlessly deep pools of blue under heavy lids. 

“Better have meant that,” Steve manages to rasp weakly. 

“Steve!” Bucky cries, and clasps Steve’s hand to his chest, smiling for all he’s worth. 

Steve grins crookedly, which looks like it takes about all the strength he has right now, and Bucky has no choice but to lean up and kiss him, as gently as he can.

“Damn, Stevie, you scared the shit outta me,” Bucky’s voice breaks as he says the words. “This better mean you’re gonna be okay.”

“Hell, yeah, I am. I wanna hear you say you love me a bunch more times.”

“How about right now?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, too, Buck.”

It’s kind of embarrassing when, ten minutes later, a red-faced doctor has to come in and, without ever looking directly at either of them, tells Bucky he has to leave because both of them need their rest. The doctor does not mention the fact that, for the last ten minutes, Steve’s cardiac rhythm has been setting off alarms in the monitoring room and it’s driving the monitoring nurse crazy.

* * *

It takes Steve two weeks to be fully healed. It takes slightly less time for Bucky to finally get him naked. Steve had said that he wasn’t ready before, and didn’t know what it would take to  _ be _ ready. But the minute Bucky tells him he loves him, he feels something change in Steve. There are no more reservations. As soon as Steve gets off the medical floor and back in his own bed, Bucky’s there, too.

Finally alone together, they wrap their arms around each other and, amidst what seems like hours of kissing and increasingly more intimate touching, pour out their love for each other in words and caresses. When, at last, Bucky moves to slide Steve’s pajama pants off, Steve doesn’t stop him. And when he’s naked, Steve rolls over (albeit with some grunts of pain) and takes Bucky’s off, too. 

Steve’s still healing, but he and Bucky are both intelligent and adaptable, and  _ exceedingly _ motivated. They make it work.

Afterward, in the dark, Steve is cuddling Bucky close, still stroking him with adoring hands. “I know now what I was waiting for. I needed to learn to love you the way you deserve. I needed to get back to  _ myself _ , and then show you who that is, earn back your trust.”

“You did,” Bucky murmurs, drowsy and floating on a blissful cloud of endorphins and love.

Steve chokes up for a second, crushing Bucky to him even though Bucky thinks that’s gotta hurt with his broken ribs. “When you told me you love me, trusted me with your heart… I love you so much, Buck. So much…” 

* * *

And now there’s no going back. Not that Bucky would if he could. But he would kind of like to know why Steve invited all his friends to this stupid press conference. 

And so would they.

“You know, I like Steve and all, but I coulda watched this circus on the news tonight. We all know what he’s gonna announce,” Sam complains, frowning at Bucky like it’s his fault Steve was so insistent.

“Well, I  _ don’t _ like Steve, and I  _ wouldn’t _ have watched this tonight,” Natasha practically snarls. “Your boyfriend’s kind of a dick, Barnes.”

Bucky gives her a pained grin. Over the six months since Bucky’s been dating Steve, his friends have slowly but surely come to accept him as one of them, and forgiven him for his early missteps. Natasha’s the last holdout and Bucky’s beginning to think she may never trust Steve. 

Which is gonna be a problem if they get married. Bucky shivers deliciously at the thought. It’s something they’ve been discussing. Something he wants more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Riley, Clint, Bruce, and Thor are also at the press conference, standing with the rest of the group to one side of the large press room in Stark Tower. Riley and Thor are fascinated by the whole spectacle of the restless reporters all bunched together and the general melee. Clint and Bruce are quiet and uncomfortable, here only because Steve asked them to be and to support Bucky by supporting his boyfriend.

There’s a sudden wave of noise, followed by a palpable hush as Nick Fury, Steve Rogers, and Tony Stark emerge from a door to the side of the dais, and take their places behind the podium, Fury and Stark flanking Steve. 

Bucky can’t suppress the wave of heat that runs through him, seeing Steve standing there. Knowing that Steve Rogers — so beautiful and confident, so beloved for the fine, fiercely dedicated man he is — loves  _ him _ .

Fury begins: “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. As you know, not long ago, Steve Rogers surrendered his role as Captain America to go into semi-retirement for personal reasons. As you also know, Rogers’ retirement was interrupted last month when he answered the call to return to that role. The terrorist group The Black took a building full of hostages, hoping to help their leader escape justice for his crimes. Captain America led the team of SHIELD agents who rescued those hostages. In doing so, he was gravely injured, and has only recently recovered from those injuries. We are all very grateful to him for his selfless actions.” 

There’s a smattering of applause, and Thor hurts the eardrums of half the room shouting, “Huzzah!”

Fury gives Thor a glare that would wither a normal man, but Thor simply smiles and gives Steve a double thumbs-up. Fury sighs deeply, then continues. “We’ve learned some lessons from these recent events. We’ve learned that this world needs Captain America.”

Bucky beams at Steve, who blushes and dips his head, but keeps his eyes glued on Bucky. 

“But even Captain America can’t do it all alone. He’s a supersoldier who’s saved this world time and time again, but he’s also a man. One man, Steve Rogers. Who is the most dutiful soldier this country’s ever had, and the most loyal, decent person I’ve ever known. He’s given everything, and it’s time for the rest of us to step up. And that’s why Mr. Stark is here. Tony?”

Tony takes his place at the podium, grinning and waving like a rock star while the roomful of people clap and the small clump of friends to one side cheer. Thor whistles so loud that several people slam their hands over their ears.

“I know. I’m incredible. But shut up now, I’ve got something to say.”

The room eventually quiets. 

“We all know what Captain America is capable of. We also know what SHIELD can do. We’ve seen what they can do together. So what if there was more than just Captain America? What if there was a whole  _ team _ of superheroes, all with different strengths, different abilities, who could kick ass, working alone or together? Or even working with SHIELD? Over the last decade, we’ve seen the emergence of superhumans created like Steve, or mutants, or — I don’t know — maybe made powerful through the use of some sort of technology.” Tony smirks at his own private joke.

“Or not human at all,” Thor suggests pleasantly, ostensibly to Bucky, but the entire room hears him and all the microphones pick it up.

“Yeah, buddy, thanks,” Tony grins at Thor. “It makes perfect sense. Steve needs backup, just like anyone else in a battle, or just doing a job. And the world needs protecting. So today we’re announcing that Stark Industries and SHIELD are launching a new initiative. We’ll be working in concert to identify and outfit a team, made up of the most skilled and powerful people — super and otherwise — we can find. It won’t be just Captain America out there fighting for us. It’ll be a whole team.”

As soon as he stops speaking, a clamor of dissonant shouting arises from the roomful of reporters, hurling questions at top volume. Fury steps up to the microphone and asks for silence several times, but gets no cooperation. Tony yells, “Shut up!” with little more effect. Just as Tony’s about to scream something profane into the microphone, a shrill whistle cuts through the room, so piercing that the vociferous uproar dies instantly.

All eyes turn to Thor, who smiles beatifically at the crowd and then gestures politely up at Tony. 

“Thanks, Thor.” Tony points to him. “Hmmm. See, that’s the kind of specialized abilities we need for this initiative.” He just lets the room think he means Thor’s talent for whistling as he finishes his speech. “As you might have guessed, Steve has agreed to resume the mantle of Captain America.”

There’s more applause and yet another resounding “huzzah” from Thor. Bucky and Steve again share a loaded look. This is something they’ve talked through thoroughly, and Steve is returning on his own terms. Strict, take-them-or-leave-them terms. Because nothing is ever going to be more important to him than Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah, Cap’s comin’ back. Only this time, he won’t be alone. He’ll be part of the best possible team we can build. And if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s build shit. I mean, stuff. Build stuff.”

There’s a general murmur of amusement before Tony turns toward Steve. “Cap? You want to say a few words?”

Steve steps to the microphone and pauses, chewing his upper lip and blinking several times before he looks up. He never looks completely comfortable in these situations, but for some reason, today he looks like he’s facing a firing squad. 

“I was a scrawny, sickly kid who just wanted to do the right thing,” he begins, clutching the sides of the podium so tightly his knuckles are white and Bucky thinks he’s about to tear chunks out of it. “I saw my share of doctors, and each of ‘em said I wouldn’t live too long, with all my medical problems. I know what a gift it is that I’m standing here, alive and healthy, and I will always be grateful. I understand the duty I’m under to use what I’ve been given to help people.”

A few affirmative comments can be heard among the reporters. Fury doesn’t react, and Bucky almost laughs as he sees Tony try not to roll his eyes at Steve’s earnestness.

“The thing is, that responsibility gets very heavy sometimes. And a while ago, I realized that I was letting it crush the humanity out of me. I’d forgotten how to be a good person, maybe even how to be a person at all. I can’t do that. It’s why I had to step down. Not just for me, but for you, too. Because you deserve a Captain America who is capable of caring deeply. To do that, and to protect your safety, I need to be strong.”

Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out, then breathes in again and looks out over the crowd, slowly letting his eyes scan the room. “I told you when I stepped down that I had hurt someone I cared about very much. It’s taken me all this time to make it up to him, and to earn back his trust. What I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know it myself, is that I was in love with this man. And I’m in love with him today, now more than ever.”

Steve’s eyes finish their sweep and land on Bucky, who’s holding his breath.  _ What the hell? _ Steve never said anything about mentioning him in his speech! Is this why Steve had asked him and his friends to be here? Bucky’s not sure he’s happy about this. He can feel himself start to sweat as he realizes half the eyes in the room are now on him rather than Steve. 

“I asked him to be here today, because I would not have made the decision to return without his support. Like I said, you need me to be strong, and he is my strength. So I want to take this opportunity to say one more time, so the whole world can hear me: I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m sorry for letting myself get so confused, and behaving like an Olympic-level horse’s ass.”

All Bucky can do is smile a little sickly and nod, signaling his reassurance to Steve that he’s forgiven. Bucky really doesn’t want all this attention. He’d be perfectly happy to have this conversation alone with Steve, but here? Besides which, he doesn’t need Steve to apologize  _ again _ . They’re way beyond that now.

Steve’s deep, sincere voice continues, holding the entire room in thrall. “I told Director Fury and Mr. Stark that I had conditions about returning. I couldn’t do it unless they could agree to those conditions because it wouldn’t have worked. I’m happy to say they have agreed. But I have one more condition, and it’s by far the most important one. Bucky Barnes is my heart, and my strength, and I can’t do this without him.”

With that, Steve steps away from the podium and down the two steps to the floor of the press room. A path of sorts opens up as he makes his way between people and equipment, dodging cases and stepping over cables, toward Bucky. As he approaches, Bucky follows his deep instinct and steps forward to meet him, smiling quizzically. It’s not until Steve takes Bucky’s left hand and goes down to one knee that Bucky understands. 

And that’s when he completely forgets that there’s anyone else in the room. He’s no longer nervous or uncomfortable in the slightest, because it’s just him and Steve in this moment.

He looks into Steve’s beautiful eyes as Steve brings his right hand up from behind him, the shine of the gold ring in his hand catching the light. Everyone in the room sees it, as do all the cameras. There’s a collective intake of breath and the room goes so silent that there’s not a sound even a supersoldier’s hearing could pick up.

Steve’s face is radiant with love as he gazes deeply into Bucky’s eyes. “I love you, Buck. With everything I am, I love you. Please. Please, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” Bucky gasps, entirely unaware of the dazed, star-struck smile lighting his face, or the exquisite tableau the two make. All he sees is Steve. All he knows is that Steve loves him, Steve is  _ his _ , forever, and it’s everything he could ever want in the world.

Pandemonium erupts the moment Steve slips on the ring, perfectly sized for Bucky’s metal ring finger, and rises to his feet to take his fiancé in his arms. Tonight’s newscasts, tomorrow’s papers, and the covers of next week’s magazines will all feature this kiss, deeply intimate though it is. Hundreds of internet memes are born in a single moment.

It only ends when Bucky’s friends — including Natasha — crowd around Bucky and Steve, rudely breaking in on their moment. Tony leaps down from the dais to join in a group hug that looks like a rugby scrum with a wheelchair somewhere in the middle. That picture, too, gets a lot of press. 

But the picture that wins a Pulitzer Prize is one taken just after that, from a few feet away. Clint and Natasha are hugging one another, Sam and Riley are kissing, and Bruce and Thor are laughing as they high-five. In the middle stand Bucky and Steve, embracing and smiling joyfully at one another, their eyes locked, seemingly oblivious of everything but each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think! Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know I love me some of that happily-ever-after shit.

Thor stands with Darcy, looking up at the door of the house. It’s still painted gray, and it still has a bright red star in the middle. These days, however, Bucky’s red star is surrounded by the rest of the colors of Steve’s shield. Thor and Darcy are still admiring it when a car stops on the street and Clint and Natasha emerge. 

“The hell are you doing? Party’s inside, not out here,” Clint laughs.

“Friend Clint! Friend Natasha! We are simply admiring the new door. Darcy had not yet seen it.”

At that moment, the door opens to reveal Steve, smiling and wearing a black, cable-knit sweater and well-worn jeans. “Hey! Welcome! And Thor, I’m supposed to remind you to ground before you come in.”

Thor laughs heartily and grabs the lightning rod beside the stoop as the group heads up the steps into the house. 

Sam and Riley are already there, smiling and laughing as they help Bucky arrange  _ hors d'oeuvres _ on trays. Bruce is taking something out of the oven. Everyone shares greetings and hugs, as if they don’t see each other almost daily now that all but Darcy are involved in the Avengers Initiative. 

It doesn’t take long for the group to settle around the comfortable living room, everyone with his or her drink of choice and trays of snacks close by. The loud, laughter-filled conversations are a combination of Avengers shop talk, playful teasing of Bucky and Steve for being honeymooners, and speculation about what wild excuse Tony will have for being late. 

Darcy tells a few funny stories about finding her way as the manager of Bucky’s bookshop and lamenting the difficulty of finding good employees. Bucky carefully considers commenting on the irony of that complaint, but decides he’s too happy and settles for nuzzling Steve’s neck instead. That is, until Sam utters a loud objection.

“Man, get a room, you two!”

“We have one. You’re in it. Get out,” Bucky mumbles, his lips just under Steve’s ear. He can feel the goosebumps rise on Steve’s flesh and Steve actually moves laughingly away so that Bucky can see he’s blushing. 

“Terrible host,” Steve says, giving Bucky a mock dirty look. “I apologize for my husband. But you know I just got back from Jordan. He missed me.”

“Also, he has no self control,” Natasha grumbles, but she’s fighting a smile. Things are much better between her and Steve these days, for a host of reasons. 

“Which reminds me, Natasha, you just got back to town, too. How’d the training go?” Steve asks to divert his attention from Bucky while they have company.

“Grueling, but good. The Kirov ballet has nothing on the Mossad. But you’ll all be happy to hear that I now know infinitely more ways to incapacitate and kill you. Also, I’ve bugged all your houses.”

“You have not bugged my house, friend Natasha!” Thor laughs loud enough to rattle the windows. He’s just come from Asgard, where he is again living full time. Now that he’s been named one of the first official Avengers, though, he spends a fair amount of time at Stark Tower, too. “Heimdal would have seen you.”

Bruce laughs in his quiet way. “Thor, why in the world would anyone bug your house? We can all hear you just fine.”

Everyone laughs, including Thor. Bucky has to smile at how good it is to have Thor in the house again, if only for the day. 

“And friend Clint, I congratulate you!” Thor beams. “You, too, are now an official member of the Avengers!”

“Yeah, I guess all that trick shooting in the circus paid off. You should see the tac gear Stark made for me. And the shooting range in the Tower? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen!”

“I heard you had a little fun with the new quinjets, too,” Riley mentions.

“Hey, it’s important to know their capabilities! And speaking of capabilities, I know Natasha’s the next one of us to be named to the Avengers. She’s been showing me some of the stuff she learned during her month with the Mossad, and  _ damn.  _ She’s not just bragging about being lethal!” 

Clint goes on about Natasha’s strength, speed, and agility. While he does, Steve leans in to whisper in Bucky’s ear, “You really wanna be the only one left out? Even Bruce has been accepted into the Avengers Initiative. Well, him and the Other Guy.”

Bucky squeezes the hand on Steve’s leg. “Told you. I’ll decide after the book tour.”

“All right. No pressure. With your enhancements, you’re in if you wanna be, but I know how you feel about fighting again.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, tilting his chin up to kiss Steve’s lips. “One suicidal asshole in the family is enough.” 

That’s when the doorbell rings, followed immediately by the sound of the door opening. 

“All right, everyone, you may now begin to enjoy yourselves. I’m here!” comes Tony’s exuberant cry from the foyer. Seconds later, he comes into the living room waving a DVD case. “And I brought it.”

Everyone in the room cheers, some trying to grab the DVD from him, but Tony hangs onto it, glowering at all of them. “Back off, assholes, this video belongs to the grooms. And since I’m the best man and an electronics genius, I will be in charge of setting up the playback.”

Sam humphs. “You go ahead and pride yourself on knowing how to use a Blu-Ray player if that’s the best you got. But  _ I’m _ the best man.”

Groans break out from every corner of the room. 

“Can we not do this again?” Bruce begs.

“Please!” Clint and Natasha cry together.

While Tony goes about getting the DVD ready to play, Steve says, “I thought we settled this. You’re both the best man, because neither of you was willing to be the maid of honor. End of discussion. Besides, Tony, don’t you have something to tell Sam?”

Tony shrugs and mutters an entirely unconvincing, “Do I? I don’t think so…”

That’s when Riley loses it. “Holy shit, Tony, you did it, didn’t you! You finished the prototype!”

Tony turns around and takes a seat on the other end of the couch from where Bucky and Steve are cuddled together. “Oh, oh yeah, that’s right.” He snaps his fingers as if just remembering, but the Cheshire cat smile he can’t suppress gives him away. “Sam, I finished your wings. And when you see what I built you, you’ll think the EXO-7 was a kite.”

“Tony, man, that is fantastic news,” Sam tells him, voice husky with feeling.

“You’re gonna be a fucking pterodactyl, man. I can’t wait to get you in the air. And I’ve seen the video of what you could do with the EXO-7. With my new wings, there’s absolutely no question you’re an Avenger.”

Sam looks at his husband and the emotion between them is palpable. Tony, uncomfortable with gratitude — and most other emotions — takes this moment to start the DVD. “All right! Who’s ready to watch the Wedding of the Century?”

On the screen appear, in a flowing but masculine script, the words:

**~The Wedding Of Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes~**

Absolute silence descends as the music begins, and the beautifully-rendered title sequence plays. Tony won’t tell them the identity of the film crew at the wedding and reception, or who produced the video, but rumor has it he called in some favors at a major Hollywood studio. The music, the editing, and the sound on the video all make that very likely. Clint and Riley are already tearful by the end of the opening credits.

The title sequence fades out, to be replaced by a wide-angle shot of Cobble Hill Park in high summer. White folding chairs sit neatly in rows, filled with smiling people in suits and dresses, chatting together. When a string quartet seated to one side begins to play, the small crowd sits and quiets. Steve soon comes into the frame, walking in front of the chairs from the left of the screen, wearing an impeccable blue suit and followed by Tony in a black suit that fits perfectly. At the same time, Bucky enters from the right, wearing a suit of blue-gray, eyes focused only on Steve coming toward him. He’s followed closely by Sam, immaculate in a gray suit and wearing an expression as serious as anyone has ever seen on his face. 

They meet in the middle, where a beaming Maria Hill stands, wearing a dress in a light blue flowing chiffon that makes her look ethereally beautiful. She’s holding a thin, white leather folder, which she opens once Steve and Bucky are standing before her, holding hands and looking at one another with serene smiles. She smiles joyfully at them and then looks past the grooms, toward the happily expectant people seated in the rows of white chairs.

“Friends and family, we are gathered here today…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this journey with me. It would not be what it is without Shax and luxanee. And, of course, there'd be no point without you, my friend reader. Thank you. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think! Or come say hi on Tumblr!


	8. Cobble Hill Poster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Notting Hill AU art piece that started this whole thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by fantastic art by Shax92, who is also one hell of a cheerleader and beta-adjacent collaborator. Trust me when I tell you that every clever twist on the original story is Shax's (okay, Thor as Spike was mine, but everything else). 
> 
> An immense, heartfelt thank you to luxanee for the truly magnificent, detailed and thoughtful, beta. I learned SO MUCH from your edits, and it was a pleasure to work with you. THANK YOU.
> 
> Between these two, who I now think of with deep friendship, this story is a hundred times better than it would have been without them. Thank you both for a wonderful collaboration.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Surreal, But Nice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026594) by [shax92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shax92/pseuds/shax92)




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